The Linen Closet
by TerryJ
Summary: Gibbs & McGee's Journey Home From Paraguay - A lot happened to get home physically, but it's an even longer journey to return emotionally and psychologically. Covers from the end of 15x1 to the start of 15x2 with an epilogue. As canon as possible, appearances from most characters.
1. Chapter 1 - McGee

Tim's mind blanked.

 _*Go - just GO*_

His internal mantra echoed as he put one foot in front of the other, running with energy he knew he didn't have.

 _*Go - just GO*_

He didn't bother to glance at his watch - either they would make it in time or they wouldn't.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

He didn't look back to see if they were being pursued; it didn't matter - he wasn't sure many bullets were left in his clip. He had shot their assailants with blind adrenaline and there had been no space for something as simple as tracking bullets. He may have shot two or sixteen, he honestly didn't know.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

He forced himself not to get his hopes up or focus on how their luck seemed to have suddenly changed. Being given access to a computer, Gibbs getting the knife, Ellie calling, the alarm going off at the right time, the sound of the approaching helicopter - it was too good to be true.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

He doggedly followed Gibbs as they turned up the next flight of stairs, not questioning if the older man knew where he was going or not. Up was a good enough direction for him.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

He refused to allow the sudden brush of fresh air to falter his steps, nor the first sight of unobstructed sky, nor the light of the incoming helicopter.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

Was Gibbs hesitating? Why? Did he see something? Know something? Tim didn't stop. Pushing up the stairs at the same pace, his body prodded his boss to keep moving forward.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

He didn't pause to try and evaluate the men who were shouting from the helicopter or process what they were saying as they urged him across the deck of the old ship. "¡Venga! ¡Venga! ¡Darse prisa! ¡Vamonos! ¡Te tenemos! ¡Venga!"

 _*Go - just GO!*_

He didn't question it when Gibbs stopped short and turned, gesturing for him to board the helo first. He just raised his arms and allowed himself to be pulled inside.

 _*Go - just GO!*_

His legs collapsed underneath him and he barely managed to get up and collapse back on to one of the canvas benches before the Paraguayans had pulled Gibbs in to the spot he had just vacated.

"GOOD?" The pilot shouted back.

Tim looked out the door to the ship that had been their prison, then down to his boss who was still laying across the floor, catching his breath and blinking rapidly with his one good eye.

McGee nodded, to the crew "Go - Just GO!"

* * *

 _**A/N – The Linen Closet Metaphor is one commonly used in therapy with trauma victims; if a mind is a linen closet and memories are sheets, trauma is like a crumpled quilt that has been tossed in, disrupting the order of the whole cabinet. You can close the doors, but it's still a mess inside until you take out each rumpled sheet and attentively go over it and refold it to restore order._

 _This story starts with the escape from Paraguay and follows McGee & Gibbs on their trip back to the US and back to normalcy prior to the first scene of the second episode of season 15. It's going to dig in to a lot of what is implied in that second episode. It is *not* tied to my other story 'Blame'._

 _Chapters are grounded in either McGee or Gibbs' point of view; it doesn't exactly alternate every other chapter but it gets close - the title will indicate who we're following for the chapter. Most of the other characters will be mentioned or make guest appearances or cameos through the story. This sticks to canon best I can so no worries about surprise twists and appearances._

 _Some chapters are short, some are long; it's about 85% written and is sitting at about 30,000 words with some beta'ing still being done. It's all one word document so I am not even sure of how many chapters but it will be posted at roughly 1 chapter a day for a few weeks. Feedback always welcome. Thank you!_

~ Terry **

 _PS! The cover art for this story is by Spec. Angel Espino and was done in a program which uses art to help service members dealing with trauma to express themselves_ ** _._**


	2. Chapter 2 - Gibbs

_"YOU ARE **NOT** **DONE** UNTIL I SAY YOU'RE DONE!"_

 _"YES, SIR!"_

 _"ARE YOU DONE, MARINE?"_

 _" **NO,** SIR!"_

With the long ago echo of his drill instructor in his ears, Leroy Jethro Gibbs breathed.

Just breathed.

Still on his back, eyes level with McGee's filthy boots he felt the jolt as the helicopter skids separated from the deck of the ship that had been their prison.

The ship that he had assumed would be his grave.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

The plan, the world's slowest moving escape plan, wasn't supposed to be more than a mental exercise; a distraction; a grounding for sanity when their bodies couldn't fail fast enough.

It wasn't clear to him exactly when he had given up hope; he had held on to it even as they had trudged deeper and deeper into the rainforest. Kept it up when they first arrived at the ship, maintained it even as his finger was broken and broken again as he refused to comply with their captor's questions.

But somewhere between wake-up calls with that damn baseball bat and various sessions of 'fun' with the guards, the plan had become, at best, a way to provoke a confrontation leading to a fast death. At worst, they would succeed in getting off the ship only to die slowly, starved and lost in the jungle.

He had moments of lucidity when he would grieve for the life Tim had sacrificed. He had kept up the illusion of hope as the last and only measure of comfort he could provide to the younger man who had been foolish enough to follow him without question.

It wasn't until Ellie Bishop's voice came through the phone that he felt the flicker of hope again, allowed himself to imagine anything more to be possible.

With that unexpected voice came images of home; quiet mornings in the bull pen, late night chats in autopsy, hugs from Abbey, repairing Bishop's truck in the parking lot, quiet commiseration from Leon, the soothing blankness of sanding a plank of wood, the simple comfort of a clean shirt.

Somehow an image of pure imagination also flicked through; Tim holding a blanketed bundle in his arms.

For _that_ Gibbs found himself returning; like a spirit pulled from the ether. In a second his mind jumped back into 'boss-mode' and was working through the possibilities of getting to the top deck in time for their miracle.

For the man who had dutifully kept up his belief in him, who had made sure that no scrap of food went to waste, whose voice and encouragement he had clung to during the darkest moments, for the man who was stronger than Gibbs could have ever imagined 14 years ago.

For Tim, Gibbs allowed himself to believe their plan would work, and that he could get them through the ship and to the helo. Even as they ran the steps Gibbs wasn't sure if he really believed they would make it or if he was still pretending for Tim's sake.

The reality seemed so far away that he hesitated when he first saw the helicopter, actually there, hovering, waiting for them.

He knew that nothing was certain, so he ensured Tim was lifted on to the bird first; he would not risk leaving him behind.

Once Tim was on, Gibbs had exhaled, the job was done and he almost forgot to raise his arms to clamor on to the flight himself.

It seemed unreal. He wasn't supposed to have made it. He had made his peace with the inevitability of death in a way he never had before.

Yet here he was, escaping.

He wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and focus on the wind whipping through cabin but the sound of military Spanish had him focusing on the feel of his father's colt still in his hand.

His time in Columbia had taught him to be wary of South American troops. He knew it wasn't a fair judgement, but he also knew that 'El Jefe' was likely not exaggerating his own influence. There was no space for assumptions or to let down his guard. Nothing was over yet and Gibbs would not entrust their deliverance to anyone who didn't swear to the American flag.

He tightened his grip on the pistol and pulled himself up to a sitting position. They had come this far and he would not give up hope again.

He clenched his teeth and focused, accepting the help as a hand reached under his bicep to pull him up into one of the secured chairs. Across the small cabin Tim's eyes were on him. Gibbs nodded once.

He would get them home.


	3. Chapter 3 - McGee

McGee felt himself shiver. He wasn't cold but the tremors continued as he watched the ship fade into the distance. He made sure his finger was clear of the trigger of the gun he still held tightly clenched in his hand. Glancing across the tight space he was reassured that Gibbs also maintained a tight grip on his .45.

The two Americans locked eyes and Gibbs gave a small nod before looking warily around the tight group of men speaking to one another in rapid fire Spanish.

"Who's in charge?" Gibbs shouted over the din of the turbines.

A man about McGee's age with a neat mustache and scarred eyebrow indicated for two of the crew to turn over their headsets to Gibbs and McGee. He waited until the men had the coms secured before answering into his helmet mic, "I am Capitan Mathias Rivas of the Paraguay 1º Brigada Aerea." He looked between the two men, "You ares Gibbs and McGee, no?"

"We are." Gibbs nodded, eyes still warily tracking across each member of the rescue team, "Where are we headed?"

Rivas gestured ahead, "An American ship off the coast of Sao Paulo." He shuffled through a bag under his bench, "It be just over an hour. Agua o barra?" He held up a couple of bottles of water and two granola bars.

Tim hesitated, eyes flicking to Gibbs whose eyes were focused on the snacks, but made no move to reach for them. Swallowing, Tim redirected his attention to the Captain and nodded, "Gracias."

He accepted everything and cautiously held out a bottle and bar to his boss.

Eyes still flicking to the other men in the helo Gibbs accepted the food from McGee, failing to conceal a wince as his broken knuckle inhibited his ability to open the packaging.

Without saying a word, Tim opened his bottle of water and exchanged it for the closed one in Gibbs hand and then did the same with the granola bar. Gibbs gave a slight nod of acknowledgement and slowly sipped on the water in between nibbles on the granola, his gun still clasped in his right hand.

Tim grimaced and for a brief moment considered giving the other man his snack bar as well; after all, he had part of a sandwich and two bites of an apple earlier in the day. His stomach roiled at the thought of giving up the food in his hand and, despite the guilt, he held on, taking larger bites than Gibbs but still managing to make the small snack last the duration of the trip to the USS Larson.

It wasn't until the skids of the helo touched down on the US Naval ship's landing pad that Tim allowed himself to feel relief; these men weren't impostors, this wasn't an elaborate rouse. Members of the Paraguayan air force had _actually_ rescued them and had now delivered them to an American Navy ship.

Navy ships had always played a prominent role in Tim's life, looming large in his earliest memories, but never had he been so happy to see the carefully painted grey steel and color coded deck vests. He forced himself to blink back tears as two seaman assisted him off the helicopter and had to consciously allow them to lead him clear instead of falling to his knees to press his hands and face to the deck.

An _American_ ship. The _Navy._ A word he had been taught to trust as resolutely as he had trusted the closest members of his family. For the first time he allowed himself to truly believe he might actually get _home_.

The thought sent a shock through him and he felt his knees go weak; if not for the young men on either side he would have collapsed. He might have felt embarrassed by the moment of instability, but he looked back to see Gibbs also being supported by two members of the Larson's crew.

The crewmen began to guide him through a steel portal and into the depths of the ship and for a moment McGee felt panic rise within him. His instincts told him to resist but he forced himself to take a breath and be comforted by the bright lights and smell of fresh paint as well as the concerned, yet welcoming smile on the face of the Chief of the Boat who stood just inside, waiting for them.

"Agents McGee, Gibbs?" The Master Chief nodded a greeting, "Greaves; I'm CoB; welcome aboard the Larson. The Captain will be down shortly; he's wrapping up a call with your director."

"Where?" Gibbs straightened away from the men at his side.

"Radio room." Greaves indicated one way, "But I'm to show you to medical."

Gibbs didn't budge, standing as stiff and as authoritative as he ever did; McGee could almost imagine that the other man hadn't been strapped to the table of a mad man only hours ago.

"I'd like to speak with Director Vance." Gibbs' good eye was locked with the Chief.

Greaves nodded, "And he has asked for the same, but he's made it clear he wants you go through medical first; SecNav is requesting a full sitrep on the two of you." He tilted his head, seeing the other man's reluctance, "A quick pass through sickbay and then there are showers, clean clothes and hot grub. I promise you'll be able to video conference with NCIS before the helo departs."

"What helo?" McGee looked to Gibbs and then back to Greaves.

"We have a day and a half of open sea travel." Greaves explained, "By then we'll be in helo range of Guantanamo where you'll catch a transport home."

McGee exhaled. There was a plan. And it sounded like a good one, a sound one. There was nothing left for him to do. Nothing left to worry about or scheme about. They would get patched up, he could finally feel clean again and eat and drink until he was satiated and sleep without fear of being woken by a baseball bat.

With an exhale he felt his mind relinquish the need to be working out what happened next. Looking to Gibbs he thought he could see similar relief.

Whether it was that relief or the orders from Vance, Gibbs gave up his argument, silently agreeing to follow the CoB further below deck to the medical bay.

McGee winced as his boss tripped over a knee knocker for the third time. He knew he had to be drained. He wasn't sure if the other man had ever actually slept over the last 2 months so much as he had extended bouts of unconsciousness.

McGee reached out, steadying him as he tripped again and almost went down in front of the sickbay.

He received a muttered grunt in return as Gibbs straightened and squared his shoulders before following the CoB through the door.

An officer with a shaved head and wire rim glasses looked up from a clipboard, eyebrows arching as the three men entered the white room. "These must be the NCIS agents." He smiled, passing the clipboard off and gesturing something to a younger Petty Officer, "I'm Lieutenant Indira, Ship's doctor."

"Gibbs." Gibbs gestured to himself then tilted his head to Tim, "McGee."

The doctor nodded, "Well, we're happy to have you aboard." He pointed to two bed stations in the corner of the ward, "We've been ready for your arrival, why don't you go ahead and get yourselves situated over there; we'll do a quick evaluation and then I'm sure you'd each be happy to take a shower before we take care of getting you hooked up with some nutrients and antibiotics."

McGee waited, watching Gibbs nod and move to a bed before he stepped up to the other.

He stood at the edge for a moment, contemplating the starch white sheet tightly pulled over the thin foam mattress. He looked down at his filthy clothes, the dirt and grease caked around his hand as he hesitated to reach for the flimsy polyester pillow.

"It's okay." A gentle hand rested on his forearm. The petty officer stood next to him looking at him with compassion, "They're just cotton sheets; if you don't dirty them then the fellas down in laundry won't have anything to do."

Tim snorted, but still made no move to get on the narrow bed.

"Go on." The petty officer nodded, "Follow your friend."

McGee followed her gesture to the other bed where it was clear Gibbs suffered from no such hesitation. Apparently allowing his exhaustion to take over, Gibbs had fallen forward on to the cot and was now curled on his side, hands hanging loosely off the edge, eyes closed and breathing steadily through parted lips.

Tim swallowed and nodded, climbing on to the cot and exhaling, forcing himself to relax against the soft material.

The petty officer smiled, "Here," She propped the back of the cot so he could be in more of a sitting position and handed him a juice box.

"Thanks." He muttered.

"No problem." She assured, patting his arm, "I need to take your blood pressure, can you take off this outer shirt?"

Tim didn't hear her, his attention focused on the other bed as Dr. Indira and a corpsman decided against waking Gibbs; simply rolling him to his back and unbuttoning the light blue shirt.

McGee fought the instinct to avert his eyes. He had caught a glimpse of the burns and bruises over the old scars on the other man's torso when he had exchanged shirts with 'Jefe' on the other ship. In the bright light of the sickbay the injuries stood out in stark contrast against the pale skin and a shiver ran through McGee and he fought to tamp down on the memories they kindled.

The Corpsman had a similar reaction, frowning at the sight in front of him, "Doctor?"

Indira grimaced and pulled off his glasses, a gentle hand touching the angry, red skin. "Electrical burn." He looked over his shoulder, "Is that right Agent McGee?"

Tim felt his jaw quiver and his eye twitched as he recalled the day that Roberto had pulled out the jumper cables, demanding to know what was NCIS and why they were targeting the R.A.C. "Y-yes." He nodded.

The doctor sighed and looked down, "We need to start an 87-A entry for his file." He directed the corpsman to a low cabinet, "Get the camera, sponge kit and burn gel." He turned to McGee, "Anything else we should know?"

"W..." Tim sighed and mentally berated himself to pull it together. He clenched his jaw. "Waterboarded. Earlier today." He blinked, "Or yesterday...I don't really know when it is right now."

"Okay. That's okay." Indira nodded, scribbling on his notepad, "We'll get him a chest x-ray to check everything out." He looked up from his notes and smiled gently to McGee, stepping closer to the side of his bed, "I'm sorry we're going to have to delay that shower; I need you to remove your shirt too."

Tim swallowed, "I don't..." He shook his head, "They didn't... do the same to me..." His voice faded as he watched the corpsman take pictures of the various wounds on Gibbs' torso, recording the evidence of torture the same way Tim had taken pictures of countless corpses over the years. He sent up a private prayer of gratitude that the depth of his boss' exhaustion kept him unconscious for what the staunchly private man would certainly have found to be humiliating.

He flinched as the doctor gently touched the rope burns around his wrists, "Okay, Agent McGee. But you still appear to have experienced some trauma." He looked into Tim's eyes, "Please take off your shirt so the Petty officer can take your vitals and be sure there isn't anything that needs more immediate attention?" He tilted his head, "We don't want you to come down with some kind of staph infection before we can get you home."

Tim nodded, and did as he was told, stiffly removing his filthy button up shirt and even worse t-shirt. He winced at the cool touch of the gloves and stethoscope as the petty officer took his vitals.

He focused on the ceiling as she lightly prodded and then photographed the torn skin on his wrists and the various bruises across his chest. He instinctively flinched as she pressed against his right ribs. They had been broken in the hours following their capture but he knew they had to be mostly healed and that the pain was a phantom, brought on by the memory of the torturous jungle trek from one rebel outpost to another.

"Okay." She finally declared, making a notation in a file. "If you want to shower you can use the ward washroom over there on the right. There is a towel, soap and toothpaste on the doctor's desk." She glanced at the tag on the inside of his t-shirt, "I'll pull some clean clothes for you."

He stepped into the washroom and shut the door. He was alone, for the first time in over 2 months. In the next few minutes he'd be clean and within the week he would be home.

Home. With Delilah. His wife.

His pregnant wife.

Two days on this ship, one helo ride, a couple days in Cuba and then one plane and one car ride. He was so close to her.

He clamped down on the sudden instinct to review the probabilities of helo, plane and car crashes and forced himself to take a deep breath and focus on trusting the men around him to get him home.


	4. Chapter 4 - McGee

Tim snorted to himself, never had he thought he'd be so happy for a pair of clean skivvies. Standing in the small wash room in the white boxers he looked at himself in the small mirror.

He was pleased to see the difference a shower had made; the blood that had been caked into the hair at his temple had come from a surprisingly small gash that was healing fast and he could mostly cover with his outgrown hair. The abrasions around his chin and forehead stood out as painfully red on his freshly scrubbed skin but, looking close, he could tell they would be quick to fade. Even the gash in his eyebrow probably wouldn't need a stitch.

Fading bruises grotesquely covered his torso from where Rafael had used his baseball bat as 'encouragement' and the abrasions on his arms still stood out; they had stung sharply as he had washed in the warm water. His stomach continued to feel tight and there was an ache through every muscle in his body. The last two months he had forced himself to ignore the dull pain of sleeping in contorted positions but it roared for attention now that he didn't need to focus all his energy on simply surviving.

Still, he felt better. He pushed his shoulders back and inhaled deeply, his chest pushing out. He could almost convince himself he looked healthy. A few more days for the face abrasions to heal and a day or two in the Cuban sun and by the time he got home he might even convince Delilah there was nothing to worry about.

He snorted. That was a foolish thought. He could come home looking like Ryan Gosling and Delilah would still be worried about him. But he had to at least try for her; she was pregnant and her little fainting spell in May made it clear that of the two of them; more energy should be spent in concern for _her_ health than his.

God, he hoped she was still okay.

He flipped on the clean t-shirt that had been provided and, leaning closer into the mirror, he used his fingers to comb his hair into some semblance of neat. He stood back and looked over his ratty beard.

He had never been able to grow a decent beard, and with an Admiral father he had never really tried, but the hair around his chin was surprisingly thick. He covered the hair on his cheeks with each hand trying to get a sense of what the goatee alone might look like.

He shivered and rolled his eyes at himself. Facial hair decisions could be left until he was home with his razor and his wife. He thought about her as he stepped into the blue jumpsuit that had been left with the boxers and undershirt.

Delilah was, hands-down, the strongest person he knew. Even after spending two months locked away with Gibbs his mind wasn't changed about the resilience of his wife. But he knew she had to have struggled the last few months.

He had a lot of work ahead of him to make up for leaving her, for jumping off the helo, for all the stress he put her through. He stroked at his chin one more time, perhaps he'd let Delilah decide what he should do with his new beard; give her some sense of control.

With a sigh, he pulled on the thick socks and padded back into the sick bay. The lights were dim except for a lamp next to Gibbs' bed where Lieutenant Indira sat with a bowl of water and a suture kit.

Tim stepped to the foot of his boss' bed, grateful to see he had blankets pulled up to his chin, a single IV line snaked underneath.

"Everything okay?" Tim asked, quiet so to not wake the sleeping man.

The Doctor nodded, looking up from where he had been wiping away the blood and dirt from the cuts around Gibbs' eye. "Will be." He gestured to a particularly nasty cut, "Just going to glue this shut and then the rest is up to him."

Tim nodded, eyes unable to move from the other man whom he had come to so rely on. "He hasn't woken up at all? Even with you doing that?"

Indira smiled, "He did, but we gave him a small dose of pain medication; between that and the exhaustion I suspect he'll be out cold for a while."

"Pain medication?" Tim frowned.

"Just a little." The doctor tilted his head, "He wasn't complaining but it will help keep him relaxed and resting. Both of which are good for quick recovery." He gestured to a steel tray next to Tim's vacated bed, "I was going to suggest a mild sedative for yourself for the same reasons."

Tim hesitated. A sedative. Gibbs was already sedated; what if something went wrong? Shouldn't one of them stay in his right mind? He felt his pulse quicken but he shook off his thoughts. If something went wrong they were on a ship with 500 men and women of the US Navy who would take care of it.

He exhaled and released his hand from the tight fist he hadn't realized he had made.

"Yeah...maybe...a little bit." He nodded stiffly.

Indira smiled and put down the sponge in his hand and gestured to the other bed. "Lay down and I'll get the IV started."

Tim nodded and with a final glance at Gibbs he moved to his own bed. As the petty officer had promised, the sheets he had dirtied were already replaced by crisp new ones. The head was once again lowered so he could lie flat and there was pile of wool and woven blankets stacked at the foot.

He automatically reached for the wool and began to pull it over him but as the heavy fabric settled over his legs he felt his pulse quicken again as the sensation of being held down drove his stomach to his throat. Without thinking, he kicked the blanket off and reached instead for the loosely woven, light polyester spread.

Indira made no comment about the disposed of wool, simply picking it up and folding it on a nearby stool as he replaced his gloves. With quick efficiency he placed the IV into the back of McGee's hand and set up two bags. "Nutrition and hydration." He pointed to one, "Broad spectrum antibiotic." He pointed to the other. He held up a syringe and injected its contents into the port at the top of the IV line. "Sedative."

The doctor smiled, "Just enough to help you sleep. I've seen enough men coming back from hellish situations to know that sometimes a little help is a good thing this first night." He patted Tim's leg comfortingly. "You both need some additional inoculations but we're going to spread them out over the next 24 hours. Okay?"

"Kay." Tim nodded, feeling his lids get heavy.

Indira nodded, "I'll be right next to you for a little while and a corpsman will be by every few hours but if you wake up and need someone and we aren't here, Petty Officer Russo or myself can usually be found in the office right through that door, okay?"

Tim's eyes lazily followed where the doctor indicated and he tried to nod. "Mhrm."

With one final smile Indira turned his back on McGee, again situating himself on the stool next to Gibbs' head and readjusting the lamp before pulling on a new set of gloves.

* * *

Even with the sedative Tim didn't find himself able to sleep straight through.

There was one time he woke to Gibbs' shouting his name but by the time he had processed that the fevered shouts of "McGee!" weren't a dream and managed to force his eyes open, Russo had already calmed the agitated agent. Tim turned to see his boss' blue eyes focus on him for a few beats before blinking closed.

From that point on Tim fell into an unconscious kind of routine. He would sleep but a light being flipped on, or an entering sailor, or clumsy corpsman would have him resurfacing and he'd turn his head, make a visual check on Gibbs and then allow himself to fall back into darkness.

He didn't know how many times he had done this when he woke at the sound of Petty Officer Russo lightly humming to herself. This time when he looked at the adjacent bed, it was empty. With a sudden rush of adrenaline he sat up, looking around the medical ward. Apart from Russo and a young seaman on the last bunk, the room was empty.

Russo looked up from whatever paperwork she was attending to and smiled comfortingly to Tim. "It's okay. Agent Gibbs went topside."

Topside?

McGee's mind stuttered on the concept.

Topside. The top of the ship. Outside.

Gibbs went outside?

He just _went_?

Again he found himself needing to take a breath to reign in his runaway thoughts. _Of course_ he just went. They weren't prisoners. Not anymore. And _of course_ he would want to be outside. The Larson was brighter and cleaner, dryer and warmer but it was still a ship just like the one they had been locked away in for the better part of two months.

He looked down to his hand, surprised to just find a band aide where the IV had been. He raised an eyebrow to the Petty Officer.

"You're all set for now." She smiled encouragingly, "All your vitals are stable."

Tim blinked. Taking her comment as permission, he dropped his legs over the side of the bed, finding a pair of black boots waiting for him. Shaking out the sleep from his eyes and stretching his shoulders and back he slipped his feet into the boots. They were a half size too big so he tightened the laces more than typical before straightening, looking around uncertainly.

Russo watched him from her seated position next to the desk. "How you feeling, Agent McGee?"

He stopped, blinking, taking a moment to evaluate himself before answering. "Good." He nodded, "Much better. Hungry."

Russo smiled and flipped him a protein bar, "Delta ladder will take you up. When you two are ready, come back in and I'll have the mess send in a proper breakfast."

Tim caught the bar and smiled, "Thanks."

Still feeling somewhat hesitant he looked over his shoulder as he exited the sick bay, looking up and down the passageway before heading to the stairs and following them up. Just like their run for freedom he didn't think, just put one foot in front of the other, turning as needed, following the stairs until the night sky could be seen through the hatch at the top.

He took a deep breath, bracing himself before he stepped out. Looking around there was no immediate indication as to the location of the man he was looking for. A Naval destroyer isn't exactly a pleasure yacht and he wasn't sure where one might go if they just wanted to sit outside.

Frowning, two thoughts crossed his mind; first, the warming horizon indicated that the sun was about to rise, and second, a memory of one of the many times he had a fight with his father as a child and had sought a hiding place on a destroyer not too different then this one.

With a smirk he followed the catwalk to the starboard side of the ship. Looking up to the side of an access ladder he saw two booted feet hanging over the side of what he knew to be a small, quasi hidden landing.

Grabbing the rungs of the utility ladder he hauled himself up to the narrow ledge. Balancing himself against wall, he shuffled to the corner until he finally found his target.

"Hey Boss."


	5. Chapter 5 - Gibbs

Gibbs exhaled at the sound of the familiar voice; the footsteps had him tensing and although he knew he could trust the men of the ship, he was grateful it was Tim.

He looked up, eyes sweeping, evaluating.

When he had first woken and looked over to the younger man, McGee's face had been lined with tension, even in sleep. Petty Officer Russo had insisted he was fine and even under a sleep aid but there had been no indication of healing relaxation.

Gibbs heart lifted, seeing him now, awake in the warm light of the encroaching dawn. McGee appeared uncertain but rested, and certainly better than he had looked in months; the blood that had covered his face for much of the last few weeks was gone and his cuts from the last time Rafael had slammed him into a wall were already fading.

"Mornin' sleepy head." Gibbs shifted over, making space on the small ledge, "You're just in time for the show."

McGee tilted his head, frowning.

"Sunrise." Gibbs gestured to the horizon, smirking at the confusion. He patted the hard steel next to him, suddenly feeling gifted that McGee had woken in time to share the breaking of the new day with him, "Sit before I have to explain to Vance that you fell off a damn ledge."

Tim hesitated another beat before relenting and lowering himself, allowing his legs to also dangle over the edge.

Pleased, Gibbs nodded and smiled at the man with whom he had shared so much. There was still tension coming off McGee in waves, but Gibbs knew whatever inner turmoil the younger man was trying to come to grips with wasn't unusual.

He was waiting for his own stress reaction to break through the haze of shock and disbelief he was still feeling. He was actually a little confused that he hadn't yet begun to feel the need to withdraw as he typically did after something upended his world. Looking at the man next to him he decided that he would let go of that personal reflection for now. In the coming days and weeks they would either lean on one another or they wouldn't, but right now he was content to watch the sunrise and pleased that Tim had joined him.

He took in the fresh air with a long inhale and listened as McGee's breathing evened out to match the slow roll of the ship as they watched the hints of orange creep up over the edge of the sky.

"How long have you been up?" Tim asked, not looking away from the horizon.

Gibbs shrugged, "'Bout an hour."

The swelling around his eye had gone down and in his periphery he could see Tim turn to look at him, studying for a long moment before asking, "You doin' okay?" His voice soft, hesitant.

Gibbs resisted the instinct to laugh. He was nowhere near ready to answer that question. He settled for shrugging and tilting his mouth in an enigmatic way.

That seemed to be enough for Tim so he turned the table, "You?"

The younger agent's jaw opened but he remained silent, brow furrowed.

"Yeah." Seeing his own lack of words reflected in Tim's eyes, Gibbs absolved him of needing to answer. "It's alright."

Tim swallowed, "Thanks, Boss."

He smirked. McGee had continued with the familiar title throughout the ordeal but Gibbs certainly didn't feel like a Boss. No, any sense of superiority he had felt had been washed away as McGee held on to believing Gibbs would get them home while, in reality, he had silently given up, only acting out a charade.

They sat in silence as the sky brightened and the bright orb of the sun pierced the sky, rising at a nearly visible speed. He appreciated the stillness of the moment, an opportunity to gather himself.

He had been running on autopilot since hearing the promise of a helo in 20 minutes. Even demanding to speak to Vance once they boarded the Larson had been an automatic reaction; he had no idea what he would have said to the man had his request been granted. He had been more than happy to release all responsibility to the crew of the ship and collapse on the sick bay mattress to embrace hours of darkness.

But the sun was risen now, and the darkness slowly gave way to blue.

Gibbs breathed in the new day, an unbidden smile pushing at him from within.

It wasn't how he was expecting to feel at the moment, and he blinked, dismissing the thought before he could reflect much deeper. He was content to sit side by side with McGee a little longer, sharing the moment as the ship's morning crew began to spill out on to the top decks, going about their daily responsibilities.

Glancing at his watch, Gibbs shifted away from the ledge and stiffly began to push himself up to stand. "Time for chow."

Tim's eyes went wide and Gibbs knew similar images of eggs and bacon were dancing through his mind.

Scrambling up, Tim nodded, "Sounds good to me." He followed Gibbs back to the ladder, "Then what?"

"Video conference with Vance at 0800 and helo at 1000." He answered lowering himself back to the deck.

The peaceful smirk fell off Tim's face, "Wait, helo? Today?" He dropped the final two rungs to the deck and turned to face Gibbs, "I thought it wasn't coming until tomorrow?"

"That was yesterday, McGee." Gibbs grinned at the absolute confusion on his face and clasped his shoulder, "Tim...you slept for 28 hours."

"28?!" McGee near shouted, " _Hours?!"_ His jaw dropped and he spun around, looking back to the horizon, pushing both hands through his hair, "I thought it was _4._ "

Snickering, Gibbs shouldered past him, following the catwalk back around to the hatch. "I've already been up, had some soup, met with the captain, played a hand of cards with Russo, went back to sleep and woke up all over again."

Tim blinked, shaking his head, "I don't believe it..."

"You needed it." Gibbs tried to assure, taking a hard right, down another ladder.

"And you didn't?" Tim frowned almost accusingly.

"I did." Gibbs refuted, stopping to face him with a smirk, "25 hours all told. Longest I've slept without being blown into a coma first."

* * *

"Agent Gibbs. Agent McGee." Captain Wilcox nodded as the two agents entered the radio room, "Glad to see you awake."

"Uh. Yeah." Tim muttered, rubbing a hand up the back of his head, "Good to be awake."

Gibbs just lifted his chin, "We on time, Skipper?"

The Captain nodded and gestured to two seats set up in front of a video terminal, "Prepped to place the call to your people whenever you're ready."

Grabbing one of the chairs, Gibbs nodded, "We're ready now." He gestured for Tim to take the other chair as a tech pressed a few buttons.

He grimaced at the unexpected tension in his gut as the screen flickered. He shifted in his chair and the screen suddenly changed, revealing the familiar scene of MTAC. Leon Vance standing in the center of the room at parade rest, hands clasped.

Although he didn't openly grin, Gibbs could tell the moment the MTAC screen revealed the Larson's radio room as Vance's eyes widened and his cheeks lifted. "Gibbs!"

He inhaled, surprised at the comfort provided by the familiar image. "Hey there, Leon." Gibbs grinned genuinely holding up a hand in greeting. "Miss us?"

Vance shook his head, "It's never been better to see you."

"You sure about that?" Gibb tilted his head.

"I'm sure." Vance promised, an amused smile tightening his eyes, "McGee there with you?"

Shifting over and backing up, Gibbs gestured for Tim to drag his chair closer to also be in the camera frame.

"Director." He nodded.

"McGee." Vance returned, eyes rapidly scanning the larger than life sized images. "You both look good."

Gibbs snorted, "You're a good liar, Director."

"Considering we were told to expect you both to be dead, you look pretty damn good." Vance volleyed back seriously.

"I'll take what we can get." Gibbs nodded, electing not to dwell too long on the truth of that statement and its implications. "What's the plan?"

Vance rocked back on his feet and nodded, understanding, "Captain Wilcox brief you on the helo?"

"He did." Gibbs checked his watch, "1000?"

"Right." Vance lifted his chin, "You'll get to Camp Delta, Guantanamo about 1300 local. You'll go through an initial debrief with Colonel Hobbs; I believe you know him?"

"I do." Gibbs nodded, "Good man."

"He is." Vance agreed, "He'll get you and McGee accommodations until the transport is ready. If all goes accordingly you'll be airborne by tomorrow evening."

Gibbs turned, exchanging a buoyant smile with McGee, "That works for us, Director."

"I expected it would." Vance smirked, "We'll have your official debrief after you've had a chance to get home and settle in. We can talk about everything else at that point."

 _'Everything else'_ He meant talking about if they'd be coming back to work or not. Gibbs clenched his molars and glanced to Tim, watching the younger man process the Director's words. His eyes were unfocused and his eyes tight.

Making note of the reaction, Gibbs returned his attention to the small video screen. "Copy that, Director." He tilted his head, "Anything from us in the mean time?"

Vance smiled, "Just don't get into any trouble before you get home."

"We'll do our best." Gibbs chuckled.

"I'm sure you will..." Vance made a gesture to one of the technicians in the room, "If the Captain doesn't mind giving us another minute, there are a few people who wanted in on this call..."

The sound of a door opening came through the speaker followed almost immediately by a squealing sound of "GIBBS! MCGEE! OH MY GOD!" as Abbey appeared at a run, followed by Ellie, Ducky and Palmer who filtered in next to the Director.

Both Gibbs and McGee grinned at the sight of their colleagues on the screen. "Hey guys…" Tim croaked putting up a wave, "Good to see you!"

"Trust us when we say the feeling is absolutely mutual." Ducky grinned, slapping Jimmy on the back, his enthusiasm forcing the assistant to stumble a step.

Gibbs' grin faded as he squinted around the background, "Where is Torres? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, Gibbs." Ellie gestured with quick, sharp movements, "Everyone here is fine, I promise."

He lifted his eyebrows at her nervousness, eyes drifting back to Vance who smiled, "Agent Torres is..."

"Right here." Torres' voice interrupted Vance, "I was signing in our guest."

Tim's smile fell off his face, eyes widening as Delilah wheeled into view of the camera.

Gibbs huffed and felt the corner of his mouth turn up as he leaned back to watch Tim as the husband and wife just stared at one another.

He swallowed, quickly dismissing the kernel of jealousy in his heart.

After an extended silence when it was apparent that neither of the McGees were about to speak, Gibbs looked back to the camera, making long distance eye contact with Vance. The director nodded, "Time is limited but we did want to make sure you had this opportunity since this call had to be made anyway."

Delilah nodded rapidly, not taking her eyes off the screen, "Thank you, Director Vance." She reached out a hand and Abbey was there, immediately grasping it.

"When are you coming home?" The forensic scientist asked when it was clear Delilah had no words.

"Working on it Abs." Gibbs assured with a smile, "Late tomorrow at the earliest. Three days on the outside."

"Tim..." Delilah finally addressed her husband.

He blinked rapidly, "H..." He swallowed, "Hey Honey..."

She bit her lip, "I'm going shopping for seven layer breakfast burrito ingredients so you better get your ass home before the milk expires, Mister."


	6. Chapter 6 - McGee

Tim leaned back against the bulkhead of their little ledge, watching their helo get refueled. One step closer to home.

He rolled his head to the side, watching Gibbs as he slowly peeled an orange, pulling out a single piece and holding out the rest of the fruit to Tim. He accepted it despite the tightness in his stomach. Dr. Indira had warned against trying to eat too much but Tim had shoveled in a plate of scrambled eggs and toast anyway and now he was being reminded of when he used to get seasick.

Still, Tim took the orange, pulling out a piece for himself and slowly sucking on it; letting the tart and sweet juice sit on his tongue.

They had done this many times over the last two months; shared a small bit of food while sitting against a steel wall, shoulders almost touching. Sometimes they had sat in silence, other times they had actually chatted.

Tim remembered disbelieving Jake when he had once characterized Gibbs as easy to talk with, but now he understood. The other man was often content to sit in silence but there were times when he was more forthcoming than Tim would have expected, given his 14 years of experiencing Gibbs to rarely have more than a sentence or two to say, and never anything personal.

He didn't remember everything they had discussed but there was one he knew he'd keep close forever.

It was _that_ day.

The day that Tim had been strapped to chair and forced to watch as Roberto used a metal paddle attached to a car battery to try and get Gibbs to tell him about what the US Federales knew of the RAC.

Finally, they had been tossed back into their cell, Gibbs on the verge of unconsciousness and McGee's wrists torn to shreds from straining against the ropes. A bowl with some kind of broth and beans had been slid in after them and Tim had focused on getting Gibbs to share it with him.

Watching the other man's hands shake Tim had finally vocalized the thought that had been plaguing him for weeks. "I'm sorry, Boss."

Gibbs had arched his eyebrows and looked over the edge of the bowl he had been sipping from.

Tim hung his chin to his chest, "I'm not the one who should be here with you."

Still mute, Gibbs lowered the bowl to his lap and tilted his head, the question clear.

"I _know_ you built the team the way you did because we each bring different skills to the table." McGee shook his head, "You need me for the computer stuff but when it comes down to the wire, something like this…" He sighed and slumped back against the wall, "Had it been Torres or Tony in here with you, you guys would have already broken out. Hell, Tony probably would have pulled something off so that you were never even captured to begin with." He blinked back the disappointment in himself, "I'm not the one who should be here."

Tim kept his eyes straight ahead but in his periphery he saw Gibbs turn to him. When he spoke it started as dry croak and he had to start over, "Torres isn't the one who got off the helo."

Tim turned his neck to look at him and Gibbs sighed, " _Tim_ , you're the one who stepped up. You always do. _That's_ why you're on the team. If it were just tech things I'd have chained you to a desk years ago."

"Torres is still new." Tim had found himself instinctively defending the choice of the other agent.

Gibbs snorted, "Meaning he still follows orders?"

"Well…yeah…" Tim nodded, thinking through his memories, "You know _Tony_ wouldn't have let you stay alone."

At that Gibbs had taken a deep inhale through his nose, not masking a wince and shifting his position.

He didn't have to say it, Tim knew that he was right and Gibbs knew it too. Still, he found himself repeating, "Tony would have stayed and he wouldn't have let things go this far."

Gibbs looked down, silently passing the bowl of broth to Tim.

McGee accepted it but placed it on the ground between them, his pervasive hunger superseded by the sudden need for Gibbs to admit he wished it were Tony there instead of himself. "Tony would have done something; either during the initial assault or the fire fight or during the hike…he certainly wouldn't have just sat back and watched like I just did today."

"Damnit!" Gibbs cut him off, flipping up an arm and nearly disrupting the meager food on the floor between them, "Do you know what DiNozzo would have done? He would have shot off his goddamn mouth until the both of us had bullets in our foreheads." He violently poked between his own eyes. "It's been a dozen frick'n years; when are you going to _stop_ comparing yourselves?!"

Tim swallowed and sat back, pressing his shoulders against the rusted steel. He couldn't recall the last time Gibbs had _yelled_ at him. Definitely not in the past year and for sure not since this hellish adventure had begun. He looked down, "I…I'm sorry, Boss."

Next to him, Gibbs released a long exhale and looked to the crumbling grate in the ceiling. "I don't get the two of you." He muttered.

Tim shifted. He knew in the beginning that Tony had been resistant to him joining the team, that he had joined NCIS before Gibbs was given lead of MCRT and it had just been him and Gibbs. The expansion of their partnership into a team had initially chaffed at DiNozzo but once he had gotten past that and managed to swallow his diffidence at Tim's technology skills they had settled into a comfortable, even brotherly relationship that had grown closer even as Tony had left the agency and moved to Europe.

Tim had been happy but never stopped being aware that there was something more between Tony and Gibbs; more time, more in common, both in skills and in life. He knew that Tony used to spend occasional evenings with Gibbs and two men had a deeply personal relationship despite Gibbs dismissiveness and Tony's exaggerated sycophantic behavior in the office.

He looked to his boss, haggard, dirty, in pain. A man who had already lost so much and seemed continually on the wrong end of karma. Tim sighed, "I'm just thinking that maybe he'd be a better person to go through this with. Tony is like a son to you."

"And you're not?" Gibbs shot back with such speed that Tim barely registered it.

His mouth opened but he had no response, his hand unconsciously going to his wrist where barely a month previous, at his wedding, he had worn Gibbs' father's watch after it had been gifted to him.

Gibbs sighed, flicking his eyes across Tim's face and then resting back against the bulkhead, focusing on the wall as he spoke, "Tony reminds me of a guy from the Corps."

Tim closed his mouth, turning to listen with rapt attention.

"Jeff Amado." Gibbs nodded, "We worked together a few years. He never shut the hell up." He smirked, snorting and then wincing to himself, "Had to say everything that came into his head. Lucky for him he was damn funny and when it came down to it, he could switch it off and be the most reliable spotter I ever worked with."

His eyes tightened, "Maybe that's why I recruited Tony; he reminded me of Jeff." He swallowed, "Probably wasn't fair; I knew what Jeff was capable of and expected the same potential from DiNozzo; a higher standard…"

Tim swallowed, "He rose to meet it."

"He did." Gibbs agreed, "He did."

Accepting that as the end of the discussion, Tim had sipped at the broth, allowing his mind to wander to Tony. What was he doing now? Did he know they were missing? Surely Bishop had told him. What was his reaction? How was he doing with Tali? She had just turned 3 when Tim and Delilah had learned of their pregnancy and Tony had been gleeful to have someone with whom to share the stresses of fatherhood.

He put the empty bowl back down to his lap and noticed Gibbs looking at him, "What?"

"You're not going to ask who _you_ remind me of?"

The question was tossed out casually, but Tim balked, thrown completely off guard. "I…remind you of someone?"

Gibbs pursed his lips and nodded slowly.

Tim furrowed his brow, "Who?" it couldn't be another Marine; an agent maybe? A childhood acquaintance? A friend of Abbey's?

"Me." Gibbs answered levelly, eyes focused on Tim, watching for the inevitable reaction.

Tim had pulled back his head and blinked, squinting as he tried to process what he just heard. There was no way that was right; what did he and Gibbs have in common other than the agency they worked for and the rope burns currently on their wrists?

The other man seemed to enjoy McGee's visible confusion and he smiled as he watched Tim's face contort in confusion.

" _How?_ " Tim finally managed.

Tilting his head back again, Gibbs looked up, eyes unfocused as he dredged through memories, "I left for the corps as early as I could. Not really more than a kid. Shorter than most the guys in the company and scrawny as hell." His head slowly shook back and forth, "I didn't have much to add to the jarhead talk but I wanted to prove my place. Worked my ass off to get to the top of the board in the areas where I could compete and refused to ever give up."

"And everyone came to respect you for it?" Tim prodded.

Gibbs smirked, "Everyone respect you just because you worked hard?"

Tim blinked thinking back to that first post in Norfolk and Tony's relentlessness, "Uh…not exactly."

He nodded, "Working hard and not giving up are baseline requirements for a Marine."

Tim readjusted to sit fully facing his boss, intrigued by this side of him he had never heard about, "So what happened?"

"I was good at something." Gibbs winced, "I worked to be even better at it until I was reliably the best and leveraged that skill into filling a need."

Tim frowned, "Sharp shooting?"

Gibbs nodded, "Your computer skills got you your foot in the door, my ability to hit a target at a distance was something my Sergeant took notice of."

"Your Sergeant…" Tim repeated, noting that Gibbs hadn't said that his skill was what got him accepted by the rest of the company.

"Maron." Gibbs swallowed. "I was on track to be an MP but he picked up that I could shoot, was fast on my feet and was patient. He didn't care I wasn't the strongest or that I wasn't exactly fitting in with the squad. He saw value and figured out how I could best be serve the Corps."

"So he's how you got to be who you are?" Tim smirked, "Sergeant Maron helped you develop your confidence?"

Gibbs snorted, "Maybe. Partially." He shrugged, "Time and experience certainly helped, but…" He drifted off, expression softening.

"But what?" Tim demanded leaning forward, more curious than he had been in a long time.

"Shannon." Gibbs replied softly, looking down. "We met after I had finished basic and had a short leave before reporting to LeJeune." A small, amused smile grew, "I was pathetically awkward but she didn't care. She never did…"

His eyes flicked to Tim, "It does something to man when a strong woman decides to love you." He shrugged.

 _"It does something to a man when a strong woman decides to love you."_ Those words were echoing through Tim's head as he shared the orange with Gibbs, waiting for their helo to be ready to transport them to Cuba on their journey home. On his journey back to Delilah.

He was already pretty confident in himself at work by the time he and Delilah had met, had already been through some life challenging things before she told him she loved him… but something _had_ changed when she came into his life. He second guessed himself less, challenged others more and found purpose in life where there had previously been just a desire to fulfill expectations.

He knew he would have given up over the last two months if it wasn't for her; he wouldn't have found the strength to keep going if he didn't have Delilah to dream about.

The CoB stepped out on the catwalk below, waving for their attention; the helo was ready. They were leaving South America.

He was on his way back to _her._

* * *

 _A/N - There is something odd going on with FF .net - I am receiving email notifications with your reviews but the website is only showing the first 11 (up to chapter 3) so I can't reply to all of you. So here is a blanket reply -_

 _THANK YOU! I was a little nervous taking this on - it gets harder as we go along because the characters go through a character change so trying to stay true to the character and organically reflect the change is a challenge I don't want to screw up. I truly appreciate the encouragement!_

 _Also, to those concerned with how I spell 'Abbey' - a close friend who introduced me to fanfiction ages ago is named "Abbey", complete with the -ey. She used to get frustrated because stores with customized knick-knacks never had her name spelled her way - so, as an ode to her, whenever I have an Abby character I spell it my Abbey's way. (See my Blue Bloods series for the same thing). I know it's not how the show is done but I think as far as infractions against the show on this site that a little 'e' is pretty minor :-)!_


	7. Chapter 7 - Gibbs

Gibbs leaned forward in the jump seat, looking out the window to the Atlantic below.

Typically, he would have slept as soon as the helo was airborne but he didn't have it in him today; he felt edgy and, if he was being honest, excited.

Excited to step on solid land, excited to get the reintegration process started...just excited about whatever was next.

How many times had he flown and not been appreciative of the experience? Flying low over the water his eyes tracked an occasional school of fish or pod of dolphins that could be seen slicing through the waves of the blue green water.

A string of small islands appeared, each emerald green and surrounded by with stark white beaches and the electric blue of reefs and shallows.

He glanced at his watch then looked to McGee, "We're over the West Indies."

Tim just swallowed and nodded, not moving to look for himself.

Gibbs frowned, "You feelin' airsick, McGee?"

"Just a little queasy." Tim winced.

He tilted his head, Tim had overcome his motion sickness years ago and even prior to that he rarely did poorly on helicopters, "We aren't far now." He offered as comfort.

Tim nodded and Gibbs noted the beads of sweat on his brow. Exhaling, he sat back, looking over the younger man. He doubted the nausea had anything to do with the flight. He suspected it had to do more with nerves and the fact they were one step closer to home.

Gibbs had seen enough young men come back from war to know that even as most dreamed nightly of the life at home, returning wasn't always easy. Those prone to overthinking and self-doubt often would have their concerns slowly supersede their excitement as the reality approached.

Although he never had been through anything quite like they had just endured, Gibbs had been through the homecoming process before and felt relatively prepared with what to expect. He knew what he'd be ready to embrace and what he'd need to pace himself on. He knew he had the quiet safety of his house and workshop waiting for him.

Tim had no such refuge away from people, no space to process whatever needed processing. He was jumping right back into his marriage and impending fatherhood. Sleeping away the day yesterday erased a good portion of the time buffer he could have used to get used to the reality of going home.

Gibbs tried to offer some understanding with a casual smile, "I know you want to get home but a day or two in Cuba will be good." He rolled his shoulders, "Will be nice to be out in the sun...and the base O-Club has a great pork, avocado, plantain sandwich."

Tim's eyes flicked to him, "We don't have any cash…"

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, "Colonel Hobbs owes me more than a couple bucks." He nodded, "Order whatever you want off the menu and put it on the Colonel's tab."

For the first time since they boarded the helo, Tim smiled.

"I've never been to Gitmo."

Gibb's frowned.

"Never." Tim confirmed the silent question, "Bishop went with Qasim and I know Tony's been before but I haven't."

Gibbs nodded, "Quarters aren't bad."

"No cots in a hanger or CHUs?" Tim asked.

Gibbs shook his head, "Dorm style or houses."

Tim blinked, "That's…good." He nodded, and nodded again, "Yeah, a house would be good."

Gibbs smiled, watching the other man carefully, knowing that Tim was probably thinking how a day or two in a house would be a good practice run at normalcy.

He nodded, "I'm even willing to bet that Hobbs ordered someone to the Px and the kitchen will be well stocked…" His words involuntarily faded as a thought suddenly came to mind as he imagined the possible supplies in the kitchen.

"Coffee…" He muttered, feeling his eyes go wide as his tongue recalled the familiar sensation of his most persistent vice. There had been coffee on the ship but Dr. Indira had warned him off of the strongly caffeinated blend and the breakfast delivered to them had only included tea bags and warm water.

Tim smirked, obviously seeing the anticipation on his face. Gibbs shrugged, aware that his weakness was well known and fodder for humor among his team.

He began to focus on exactly what kind Hobbs might have left in the house; at this point Gibbs would have settled for the drivel they called coffee in the NCIS kitchen, but he was fairly certain that _his_ brand was available at the Gitmo exchange and he felt himself salivating at the thought.

Meanwhile Tim's smirk had faded, "Uh, Boss…" Gibbs looked up, "How many, uh rooms are in the houses?"

Gibbs tilted his head, not following.

"It's not the kind of base where service members have their families or visitors…" McGee tried to explain, "So there isn't a need for a lot of rooms, right?"

Gibbs shrugged, "Some may have only one bedroom, most have two or three." He narrowed his eyes as McGee responded by shifting uncomfortably.

Tim picked up the unasked question, looking reluctantly to Gibbs and then shifting his attention out the window, "Just thinking about sleeping." He winced and looked down, "Kind of freaked me out when I woke up this morning and you weren't there."

Gibbs resisted the immediate instinct to smirk. At some point in that hellhole they had shared, he had resolved the least he could do for Tim was to be honest and he didn't want to give the impression he was amused by the admission. In fact, he understood it completely. There were only few times over the last 2 months that they had been separated and each time they had feared for the other's fate.

"I considered that." He admitted evenly, "But you were so out of it and…"

"Oh, yeah, I understand." McGee nodded, "I'm glad you went outside." He swallowed, "I'm just saying…It'll be an adjustment."

Gibbs looked back at him for a long beat, understanding what he was saying; regaining distance would not be easy. He shrugged, "I don't know if I'll sleep at all. I may rack out on the couch if there is one."

Tim's eyes narrowed, obviously thinking through the potential arrangements.

Gibbs did smile then, "Take a bedroom. I won't leave the house without you."

Nodding slowly Tim agreed, "Okay." He inhaled, "You're right, a couple days will be a good thing."

There was a bump as the helo dropped in altitude, "Glad you agree. We're about to land."

They both leaned to look out the window as the green island gave way to the cement and pavement of the US Base and the tarmac neared.

There was the expected jarring as the skids landed and the whine of the turbines slowing.

For the umpteenth time Gibbs silently cursed his broken and malformed finger as he fumbled with his seat restraints. He managed them off by the time the helo's navigator opened the door and he followed Tim, standing on solid land for the first time in two months. Although it was expected, he was jolted by a lurch in his stomach and he had to flex his knees to feel steady and his head swam a little as he took one step and then another.

Looking over his shoulder he could see the evidence of McGee's same struggle with the adjustment to his land legs.

"Jee-zus, Jethro!" A familiar voice had him looking up as Hobbs approached from a jeep, "You look _terrible,_ man."

"Colonel." Gibbs grinned, accepting a brief hug from the officer, his chest welling at the familiar face. He stepped back and tilted his chin to McGee, "This is Special Agent Tim McGee."

"McGee." The Colonel addressed him with a smirk, "Trying to keep this one out of trouble isn't easy, is it?"

Tim smiled weakly in return, "I'd have to say trouble has a way of finding us, Sir."

"Damn Gunny, you got them all trained with the party line or what?" The Colonel shook his head.

Gibbs just shrugged, "We've worked together for a while." He looked around the helopad and airstrip, "What's next Colonel?"

"Well, I don't have all the details, but I know enough that you two could probably use some lunch." He gestured for them to climb into his jeep as he shooed a young lieutenant away from the driver's seat and settled himself behind the wheel. "Don't know why they assume somewhere along the ladder officers stop wanting to drive themselves." He muttered as he took them across the airfield.

"I figured you'd rather not deal with the crowds so I had some things brought to my office." He explained loudly as he pulled up to a low building.

Gibbs nodded, slowly extricating himself from the vehicle. "Thanks." He squinted to the tarmac, "Any idea what the schedule is for our transport?"

"It's already here." An unexpected voice answered from the doorway.


	8. Chapter 8 - McGee

At the sound of Vance's voice, Tim whipped around so fast that he almost fell over.

He took some comfort in the fact that Gibbs appeared equally shocked, mouth open and eyes blinking.

"What?" Vance smirked jauntily as he came down the steps, "No ' _Hello_ '?"

"Leon…" Gibbs finally broke into a wide grin, accepting the NCIS director's outstretched hand while bringing tightening his left hand on Vance's shoulder.

Vance mirrored the movement and the two men stood a moment in the wide embrace, eyes moving rapidly to take in every detail of the other.

Tim knew that his boss and his boss's boss had slowly grown to respect one another, but outside of the time when Jackie Vance had been killed, this was the first he was seeing something between them that was more than professional; that perhaps he and Tony weren't the only ones who had developed a kind of brotherly connection.

His eyebrows rose as Gibbs clearly blinked away moisture in his eyes and Vance deflected, stepping back with a suspiciously forced clearing of his throat.

Stepping away and straightening his shoulders, Vance turned to McGee with the much more familiar professionalism. He reached out to shake his hand, "McGee." He smiled, punctuating the shake with a satisfied nod. "It's good to see you two in person."

"Yeah…About that…" Gibbs tilted his head. "What are you _doing_ here?"

Vance shoved both hands in his pockets and rocked on his feet, "After our video call this morning I briefed SecNav. She seemed to think that in light of everything, it was a disservice to make you wait for a cargo flight." He smiled and nodded to the sleek Gulfstream at the edge of the airfield, "She offered her ride and suggested I come collect you myself."

He shrugged, "I arrived just a few moments before you did."

Tim swallowed and looked to Gibbs who stood almost frozen with a strained, disbelieving smile on his face.

He blinked, thinking back over the conversation in the helo they had just had and felt his stomach tightening again. He wanted to get home to Delilah but there was a part of him that really had been looking forward to having a day or two to practice just being normal with Gibbs before he had to face all the expectations of his life waiting for him back in DC.

"We're going home…now?"

Vance turned to him, "In an hour or so. The plane needs to be refueled and we all could use some lunch." Oblivious to Tim's inner turmoil, the director's cheeks lifted in a pleased smile, "But barring anything unexpected you should be at your apartment before 9 tonight."

9 tonight?

Tim blinked. The words rung in his ears as he stiffly followed the Colonel and his bosses in to the admin suite and a large conference room.

9 tonight.

He did the math while mechanically sitting next to Gibbs in one of the cushioned office chairs.

That was just over 7 hours away.

He automatically reached for the apple that was placed in front of him.

7 hours and he'd be home. With Delilah. In their apartment.

His eyes flicked to Gibbs and smiled stiffly at some comment he made as he handed him half a sandwich.

Their apartment. 11 miles from Gibbs' house. On the other side of the river.

7 hours and he'd be back.

For real.

What he'd been dreaming and imagining for 2 months was only 7 hours away.

So why was he so filled with dread?


	9. Chapter 9 - Gibbs

Gibbs grimaced as the golf cart bounced over a seam on the tarmac. He had only managed 3 bites before his stomach had clenched, still unprepared for the rich food. A bit of bread and an apple were tucked into his pocket in anticipation of his hunger renewing on the plane but the bouncing ride out to the Gulfstream was bordering on making him sick.

He visually checked in with Tim on his right. The younger man had been quiet through lunch and was now blankly focused on his hands, absently picking at the rough skin around his thumbnail.

Gibbs clenched his teeth, guilt joining the roiling in his stomach as he reflected on their conversation in the helicopter. He elbowed Tim lightly, promptly the younger man to look over at him, shoulders still hunched.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

Seemingly picking up on the question, McGee shrugged, sheepish, "Happening fast."

"Yeah..." Inhaling, Gibbs wished he had more than platitudes. Instead he tapped McGee's forearm lightly as the cart came to a stop in front of the plane, "It'll be good."

Vance jumped out from the front seat and gestured to the stairs, "Pilots are already in the cockpit; how about we head stateside?"

Despite his awareness at McGee's conflictions, Gibbs couldn't help but match Vance's grin. They really were going home. He stepped aside, encouraging Tim to head up the steps first, following closely on his heels and pausing when he stepped inside.

"Something wrong?" Vance squeezed around him.

"Nah, no." He shook his head, "I just remembered we took this same plane round trip to Cuba once, for a case."

"Really?" Vance glanced to McGee.

The younger man shook his head, taking a seat, "A few of us took it to Indiana for Agent Todd's funeral but that was the only time I was ever on it."

"No, it was right before you came to DC permanently." Gibbs gestured, settling into one of the chairs, looking around, "It was Kate, Tony and I. And Paula Cassidy rode with us home."

"Definitely before I came to DC." Vance nodded, "Probably the last time you got such a perk for a regular mission."

"First and last." Gibbs confirmed, smirking at the built-in display, "DiNozzo spent half the flight playing with this thing."

"I imagine he was quite enthusiastic." Vance agreed, buckling into his own chair across the table, tucking his briefcase beneath his feet.

Gibbs snorted, remembering the effervescent joy Tony used to derive from some things, "Try along the lines of a 5 year old." He pressed a button, smiling fondly as the displays cycled through.

Vance sobered, "DiNozzo's called in weekly the last two months. I suspect he's communicated with Bishop even more frequently."

Gibbs looked to the table, of course he was checking in. It shouldn't surprise him but he wasn't prepared for quite how pleased hearing about Tony's concern made him feel.

He ruminated on that feeling as the jets warmed up and the aircraft lifted off.

Vance clasped his hands, leaning his elbows on the table, "So how about a quick debrief? Cliff notes."

Gibbs took a sip of water, buying himself a second to steady his mind. "What do you want to know?"

He shifted as Vance's eyes drifted across his face. Finally, the other man softened and gestured with an open palm, "Agent Torres fully debriefed on everything he was present for so why don't we start there?"

A quick glance proved Tim didn't appear to have any intention of contributing so Gibbs took a breath, "I didn't make it to the helo because I was providing covering fire to hold back the RAC."

Vance frowned, "What was your plan?"

"That was it." Gibbs shrugged. He wasn't going to spell it out, he knew Vance understood that he had been prepared for that moment to be his last stand. He swallowed and looked back to McGee who sat silently, eyes focused on his hands, pressed flatly against the table top.

There had been a day in the cell when, losing hold of hope and sick with guilt that the expectant father would never see his child, Gibbs had lashed out; reprimanded McGee for not following orders, for getting off the helo, for following him.

McGee had silently absorbed the tongue lashing, waiting until all of Gibbs's fear turned guilt, turned anger, had been spent.

After a space of silence Tim shook his head, "Boss...I'm a field agent. That's all I've wanted to be. From FLETC to Norfolk, to the summer Vance had me in the basement with the computer nerds, all I wanted was to be in the field. I turned down the job in Japan a few years ago because I. Am. A _field_ agent."

At that point he had shrugged, "I know most people don't see me that way but lucky for me, I landed with the best teacher an agent could hope for. You taught me a lot Boss, but if nothing else, I know two things to be true; we're each responsible for our own choices, and, _we have one another's back_. I hate what I'm missing but _when_ we get home I'll be able to look at our teammates in the eye and my wife and child with pride. You gave me an out before the mission. This was my choice. It's time you stop protecting me, Boss."

His words hadn't soothed any of Gibbs' guilt but they did remind him with jarring clarity that the man in that cell wasn't the same barely post-pubescent probie whom they ran into on a case in Norfolk 14 years ago. If McGee credited him with being his teacher than he would take pride in that.

Now, on the plane, overwhelmed with the reality of heading home, McGee's confidence was nowhere to be found. He kept his focus down as Vance looked to him, expecting an explanation for his actions. When Tim remained silent, Vance grimaced and made eye contact with Gibbs.

McGee's story wasn't for Gibbs to tell and he knew that it would be important for McGee to be able to explain it for himself one day. Gibbs wouldn't take that away from him. He kept his mouth firmly closed and gave their inquiring director a silent, one shouldered shrug.

"Okay…" Vance took a breath, narrowing his eyes and reading the men in front of him. Seeming to understand, he moved on, "Eventually the helo took off and you and McGee ran out of rounds. Why didn't they kill you on the spot?"

"We surrendered." Gibbs felt his eye twitch involuntarily. When Tim had appeared at his shoulder the goal suddenly shifted to surviving long enough for escape or rescue. To get the soon to be father home. "I told them I knew things that their boss would find valuable, but I would _only_ tell their boss."

"They bought that?" Vance's eyebrows arched.

Unconsciously Gibbs rubbed at his disfigured knuckle, "Eventually." It didn't escape his notice that next to him, Tim's hand dropped to his ribs.

When he had made it clear that they would not be able to _'persuade'_ him to talk they had threatened Tim. He had desperately tried to insist that if Tim was hurt than he would not tell _anyone_ what he knew, including their _jefe_. Their captors had tested his threat by taking Rafael's bat to McGee's ribs before separating the two men.

That had been the worst 3 days of the entire ordeal. He had heard McGee's ribs crack and then watched him be dragged away into the jungle. He didn't know if the man he felt responsible for was dead or alive. He had remained mute and refused to eat or move under his own power until the rebels gave in and returned Tim, in pain but alive.

Vance was quiet; eyes picking up the movements of the two men but electing to move on, "Did they bring you anywhere before the ship?"

"Nowhere specific." Gibbs didn't bother to wait for Tim to speak, "14 day hike over roughly 80 klicks. Most nights we made camp but 4 times we stopped at some variation of temporary base."

"Then the ship?" Vance prompted.

"A defunct transport steamer." Gibbs nodded, "Base of some kind of operation having to do with radioactive material."

"We figured as much." Vance nodded, "That's how we got that sat phone number, we caught a case involving the material being smuggled into the US."

Gibbs looked to the side, processing and immediately curious. His wondering was undercut by Vance's next question, "What happened on the boat?"

He glanced to Tim, picking up on the tightening of the other man's throat. He exhaled, "A lot of nothing. Locked in a cell. Food scraps."

Gibbs clenched his teeth, holding back on the details of the daily **'fun'** their captors would have in retaliation and boredom. He wasn't ready to admit how he had come to truly fear that damn bat or the sound of their cell door creaking open.

Instead he tried to put a wry smirk on his face, "I could have told you how many days exactly, but _someone_ broke my wood carving."

For the first time McGee looked up, blinking at him in the same way he used to when he was a Probie and Gibbs could successfully flummox him with a look. "I…Boss…" He shook his head, "You punched me in the nose!"

Pleased to see any kind of reaction out of the other man, Gibbs held up a finger, " _After_ you broke my wood carving."

Tim rolled his eyes, "I just threw it. Not my fault it broke."

Vance's brow furrowed, looking between them, "You two _fought_?"

"More like grappled." Gibbs reframed.

Tim shook his head, "It was part of how we escaped. We fought, loudly, until someone came into the cell to break us up. That's how Gibbs was able to steal a knife off a guard."

"And you used that to escape?" Vance tilted his head.

"Partly." Gibbs nodded.

Vance leaned back, crossing his arms, evaluating the two agents, "Why did you choose the day you did?"

Gibbs looked to Tim and smirked, "It was the day they made the mistake of letting McGee touch one of their computers."

Vance blinked, then dropped his arms with a huff of amusement. "What did you do, Agent McGee?"

"Well…" Tim glanced to Gibbs then back to the Director, "When they asked me to install a printer driver I managed to hack into the warning system and schedule a contamination alarm."

"Which is why you had a time limit to get topside." Vance filled in, recalling his own unanswered question from their phone call.

Gibbs nodded, "It was our diversion. We broke out and eliminated a couple of sentries and made it to the wardroom to collect our property including our weapons but there were too many people on the boat to expect to escape with just a couple of pistols. We needed a reason for them to evacuate themselves."

"So you spent nearly 2 months biding your time until McGee was invited to use a computer?" Vance pushed.

Gibbs turned a cough into a clearing of his throat and shifted, "More or less."

"And just so happened to be in the wardroom when we found the US connection and Bishop called the sat phone?"

Gibbs shrugged and looked to Tim who swallowed, "Just lucky, I guess."

Vance blinked, staring back at him before cracking a smile and chuckling, "Lucky?" He shook his head, "Yeah, I guess you are."


	10. Chapter 10 - McGee

_A/N - for those wondering; I am **not** implying anything between Gibbs & Vance. I have really enjoyed (and been driven crazy by!) watching the ins and outs of their relationship. Especially after Jackie was killed it seems like Vance kind of clung to Gibbs, emotionally seeing himself in him. Gibbs didn't necessarily agree (he kept reminding Vance that he still had his children) but I get the sense he cares very much for Vance and they developed a deep friendship even if it's not always put on display. _

_Now...The guys are about to land at home and as the story shifts away from what it takes to physically make it back, it will focus more on laying the foundation for the two different emotional realities we see each man discuss with Grace in 15x2._

* * *

Tim glanced out the window, recognizing the shore line of Virginia as they started their descent into DC. His stomach tightened again.

So close.

When he was a kid he remembered Penny had banned cheering and gloating in the final minutes of any sporting event. " _Karma is a bitch, you know. The moment you start to think everything is in the bag, that's when the other team will knock one out of the park_."

The words of caution echoed again as the pressure in the cabin changed and they closed in on the airport.

Sometime during the flight, Gibbs had moved to the small sofa, crossing his arms, extending his legs and falling into his customary plane doze. He wasn't exactly asleep but he certainly appeared more relaxed than Tim felt.

He shifted in his seat. How could Gibbs be so relaxed? It was surreal, wasn't it? How could you be being held like an animal in a cage, starved, beaten and tortured one day...and then the next be sitting in a 40 million dollar jet, sipping on orange juice?

Was he the only one who thought that this transition was too fast? Too easy?

Looking back across the table he found Vance's eyes on him. He fought the instinct to squirm under the blatantly analytical gaze of his director.

"I know you must be worried about Delilah." Vance spoke quietly, "You should know the rest of your team has been there for her during the last 2 months. I believe Ms. Scuito has attended every doctor's appointment."

Tim swallowed. Although that hadn't been the exact thing on his mind, it was not far behind. He nodded, "That's good to know."

He had seen Abbey worry about Gibbs before and had somehow assumed her concern would only be focused on him. Now that Tim thought about it, of course Abbey, the most feeling person he knew, would not only be concerned for Gibbs but also for him and by extension, Delilah.

She would have dealt with her worry by doing whatever she could to feel productive or helpful. He smiled, imagining her whirlwind energy flitting around his apartment, making sure Delilah wanted for nothing.

He felt a warmth within him and looked at the growing view below. His previous worry began to cede to the deep desire to just be _home_ with not just Delilah but Abbey and Ellie and Torres and Ducky and Jimmy. Even Reeves would be a comfort to see. He knew later this week he could probably expect a visit from his sister, mother and Penny. He would be surrounded by people he could count on to be happy to see him, offer hugs and back slaps and filling meals and comfortable evenings sitting around talking about nothing.

Like whiplash, his fear of coming home too fast became an urgent need to physically get there before anything else could happen, keeping him from those familial comforts.

He glanced at his watch, "Director, Sir, what is the plan once we land?" He looked up, "Do we need to check in anywhere?"

"There isn't exactly a procedure for this, McGee." Vance indicated with his eyebrows, "But my car is waiting for us at the airport. I need to head back to the office but see no reason not drop you both at home first."

Tim inhaled and then exhaled, "Good. Good. Thank you."

Vance smiled and nodded, "Better buckle up."

The plane seemed to speed up as it descended, trees and houses getting closer and the lights of DC clear through the window.

Gibbs stirred with the first bump on the tarmac, cracking his neck and rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms before remembering the still tender skin. He stood with a wince and a grumble before the plane even came to a halt.

"Remind me to thank Porter for the ride sometime." He directed to Vance, rolling his shoulders and flexing his knees.

"You'll have the opportunity soon enough." Vance nodded, not looking up as he cleared the paperwork he had been reviewing into a briefcase, "This whole misadventure stirred up quite a bit of heat on the hill for the agency and she's very interested in hearing directly from you."

Gibbs stilled, "Don't tell me now…"

"No." Vance assured, standing and gesturing to the door, "Tonight is about getting you both home."

Tim tilted his head, watching as Gibbs stilled, pressuring the inside of his lips.

Vance seemed to also pick up on the shift in the other man and waited, even as the engines turned off and the door was opened. "What is it?"

With a forced clearing of his throat, Gibbs blinked as if he had forgotten the other two were there, "Uh. Any chance I can come to the office first?"

Frowning, Vance looked to McGee for a beat.

Tim just gave a shake of his head. It didn't make sense why Gibbs would want to go to what would surely be an empty office.

"I uh..." Gibbs shrugged, pausing on his words, "Well if our stuff is still there, there's something in my desk and my truck..."

Ahh. That was it. McGee knew that Gibbs personal SOP was to leave all personal affects in his desk before leaving on a mission; his way of keeping them safe. He wasn't sure what Gibbs might have tucked away last May, but if it was something familiar and important then Tim understood completely.

It seemed Vance did too and he nodded. "Yeah, okay. Your truck has been moved to your house but no one has gone through the personal items in your desk. I was just telling McGee I need to stop at the office anyway."

"Thanks." Gibbs nodded, his shoulders relaxing again as he followed Vance out of the plane and down to the tarmac.

Tim followed last, hesitating on the last step.

This was it. Home.

The Larson had been an American ship and Guantanamo was an American base but this...this was America. He could see the Washington monument over the low airplane hanger and he breathed in deep, wanting his cells to absorb every molecule of American air.

Vance gestured to his tan SUV and Tim automatically went to the backdoor, leaving shotgun to his boss. His eyes focused on the city passing through the window as they drove. He barely heard the murmured conversation between the two men up front as Vance explained some of the personnel changes that had gone on and the congressional hearings over the last two months.

Finally and suddenly they were stopping.

In front of his building.

Home.

Gibbs turned in his seat, looking back at him, "Ready?"

Tim swallowed. First he had been so nervous, and then he had been excited and now the two emotions were crashing together and his stomach was lodged in his throat. There was no way he was going to say no though. No way he was going to get this close and not finish the journey.

So he nodded, smiling when Gibbs reached back to pat affectionately at his cheek, "Find a razor, will ya?"

"We'll see, boss." He gave a nod of gratitude to the director and exited the car.

Standing in front of the doors he hesitated. Something seemed wrong. Not enough.

He turned back to the road.

The SUV was still there, idling. Gibbs' window was rolled down and his boss was watching him with a tilted head. For a beat he wanted to ask Gibbs to come in with him. Not leave him alone. He swallowed the request.

"It's okay, McGee." Gibbs assured as if reading his mind. "You know where to find me. You did it. You made it home. Go; be with your family. It's okay."

With a swallow and a nod Tim raised a hand in a stilted wave, "Thanks Boss."

Gibbs smirked and the window rolled up, obscuring his face.

Finally, McGee turned back to the building and entered through the double doors.

Ignoring the stare of the watchman he stood in the lobby looking between the elevator and the stairs.

He was so close. Couldn't screw this up now…

He'd been stuck in an elevator before...But if he took the stairs it was possible his still shaky legs would trip and he'd fall, breaking his neck only steps away from home.

He shook his head, he was over analyzing. This was a good building, they didn't shirk on the maintenance; the elevator would be just fine.

He pushed the up button and the doors slid open as if the cart had been waiting for him to make up his mind. He swallowed and stepped in.

Taking a deep inhale he looked to the ceiling, trying not think about how his stomach was clenched and his heart was racing. His hands began to shake and he shook them out until the tremors were internalized.

The doors opened again and he was staring down the hall, his hall. 50 more feet.

He moved with deliberate steps, realizing as he approached the door that he never planned what he would actually say to Delilah, his mind was blank.

He took a deep breath, gathering himself, it didn't matter if he didn't have the right words; it never mattered with her.

It felt odd to knock on his own door but he had no choice, he had no keys.

He hadn't expected Abbey to be there, but wasn't surprised when she answered the door. He _was_ a little surprised to see Torres step out from the kitchen. He knew the two of them had a lot to talk about but for now he was happy to see how much the former rogue agent had apparently fully committed himself to the team.

And then, he heard _her._ And he was turning the corner and there _she_ was.

Perfect.

And he was speechless.


	11. Chapter 11 - Gibbs

Gibbs remembered the day he returned from deployment and was greeted by his wife and infant daughter. The sheer weight of gratefulness and joy after months of worry had left him speechless; he hadn't been able to do anything but blink back tears and whisper apologies for missing the birth into Shannon's hair as he pulled both of his girls into his arms for the first time.

No homecoming since then had quite managed to knock him off his feet as much as that one.

Until now.

It couldn't be more different than that sunny, crowded memory, but sitting alone in the darkened squad room with nothing but the hum of Bishop's computer and the weight of his father's id bracelet on his wrist, Gibbs felt himself give in to the desperate gratitude of being home.

This place, this god awful, orange and blue, technology filled, place, had been so much to him over the past 20 years. After he had lost everything, this job had given him purpose, the people who filled the empty chairs were his family and the good he was able to contribute from this space was atonement for the regrets of his life.

He honestly didn't think he'd ever be back again and the incredible realization that this wasn't a dream hit him in the gut and it suddenly felt difficult to breath.

A movement caught the corner of his eye and he cleared his throat before blinking up at Vance who was standing patiently at the corner of McGee's desk.

Uncomfortable being caught with his emotions on raw display, Gibbs shifted, wanly smiling, "Finish everything?"

"No." Vance answered flatly, "But enough for now." He tilted his head, "You get whatever it was you wanted?"

Unconsciously he rolled his wrist, feeling the metal chain on his skin. "Yeah."

Vance didn't move, "I expected you to have gone with Bishop back to McGee's."

Gibbs shook his head. He was happy to have had the quiet moment with Bishop and he was looking forward to seeing everyone else but it didn't feel right to accept the invitation; he needed some time to settle back in before he got caught in the whirlwind of 'welcome home's.

"Nah."

The director's eyes narrowed for a beat and he took his time looking over the agent. "You know you look like crap, right Gibbs?"

The honest assessment pulled him down from his internal reflections and Gibbs chuckled, "I suspected…"

"Good." Vance smiled back, "So you'll understand when I tell you that you're not coming into work tomorrow, you need to take some time."

He knew it was coming. He knew he needed to assimilate to life again, that there would be physical and mental requirements that needed passing and he wasn't foolish enough to think he'd pass either at the moment.

"Yeah." He sighed. "I know."

A small smile pulled at Vance's lips, "I will admit it'll be good to have you back."

"I've been gone before." Gibbs shrugged, pushing back from the desk, trying to conceal his stiffness as he stood. The look on the other man's face told him he wasn't successful.

"You have." Vance nodded, gesturing for Gibbs to lead the way to the elevator, "But this time, not knowing if you or McGee were coming back…" He pushed the call button with some force, "I may have been forced to acknowledge all the contributions you make around here, outside of your usual caseload."

Gibbs shifted, knowing Vance was referring to the classes, evaluations, advising and reporting that would have needed to be rescheduled or delegated in his absence.

"Maybe we can figure out some way for you to be involved before you have full clearance to return." Vance made the offer casually as he stepped in to the elevator but Gibbs' heart swelled; to be needed, to avoid another month of waiting to return to work.

"If you're interested, of course." Vance looked up with a smile which told Gibbs that his boss knew full well what getting back to work meant to him.

"Of course." He agreed evenly.

" _And_ after at least a week off." Vance tilted his head, "Sleep, eat, fish, build something, travel…" He smiled, "Then we'll talk."

Taking a long inhale through his nose, Gibbs nodded. "Fair."

The elevator reached the ground floor and he followed Vance through the lobby and to the parking lot.

Pulling his keys from his pocket Vance hesitated, "I get you not wanting to deal with the crowd at McGee's but how about you come with me for a night or two? We can stop at your place to grab some things first."

Gibbs paused, honestly touched by the offer.

It had taken a while for he and Vance to work each other out but after the Renosas had come to town and then the Port to Port Killer he felt that the two of them had established a reliable and stable relationship. After Jackie Vance had been killed, their personal friendship, as unusual as it was, had been cemented and only grown over the past 4 years.

He swallowed, tempted for half a second to accept the invitation just to show his appreciation, but he shook his head, "I'm good. Thanks."

Vance grimaced, but accepted it, driving the 10 minutes to Gibbs' house in relative silence.

"Your team kept checking up on the place." He explained pulling up in front and handing Gibbs a key, " _They_ actually kept it locked."

Gibbs smirked, palming the small metal key.

"But everything should be as you left it." He looked out the window to the dark house, "Electricity is on, a few tv dinners are in the freezer but I suspect the fridge is empty; Miss Sciuto had said something about stocking up for you but no one was expecting your return for at least another day."

Gibbs nodded, looking to the house that was waiting patiently for him.

"I can come in." Vance offered, "Or call someone? Ducky? Fornell?" He sighed, "I know you want your space Gibbs, but…"

"It's okay, Leon." Gibbs cut him off, suddenly itching to get inside, "Really." He offered his most comforting smile, "Thanks for the ride, all the way from Cuba."

Vance nodded, a defeated but accepting sigh, "Anytime."

With a grin, Gibbs pushed his door open.

"Jethro…" Vance halted him, "...I... really am glad you're back."

Patting a hand on the other man's shoulder Gibbs nodded a silent appreciation before pulling himself out of the car and tapping on the roof.

Entering the house he was again grateful for his team; after two months it didn't feel musty; it was clean with mail organized in stacks on the table and the windows behind the sofa cracked open.

Hesitating by the door he looked at the lock that he hadn't ever used.

He knew Rafael was dead. He knew that no one would be storming in wielding a baseball bat and kicking him awake in the early hours of the morning. He knew he was as safe as he ever had been in his own home.

Still...

With a flick he secured the lock and unclenched his teeth.

A long, stinging shower later, he stood in the middle of his bedroom in a Norfolk t-shirt and USMC sweatpants. Compared to the cell, the room felt cavernous and empty.

He flexed his hands, feeling fidgety with all the space and silence. He felt his breath quickening.

For a second he regretted turning down Leon's offers; but he wasn't about to call the man back in the middle of the night. He considered calling Tim but shoved that thought aside; McGee was at home with the team and Delilah, readjusting to his version of normal and didn't need to be interrupted by Gibbs just because he was feeling out of place in his own home.

Silently berating himself for the self-created tension, he turned on his heel and headed to the basement.

The scent of sawdust filled his nostrils, instilling a comfort and warmth he hadn't realized he craved. There was no dampness here, no rusting iron, no mold, no dirt. It was clean and dry and smelled of wood and memories.

Breathing in, he walked to the tool bench, hands skimming over the wooden grips of his tools. He leaned back, looking at his boat, feeling the settling weight of his experience and exhaustion.

He rubbed at his eyes and the old Air Force ID bracelet he wore irritated the tender skin of his wrist.

He rotated his arm, stroking the familiar letters and numbers. His father had given it to him before he left for Basic; a peace offering to end the fight he caused by joining the Marines against Jackson's insistence.

Gibbs would never admit how many nights he had reached for it during the toughest times at Paris Island. Seeking comfort through the tangible memory of his father's gruff love and support.

When the girls died and he retired from the Corps, he had pulled away from family and friends, unable to navigate past the painful conversations. His one concession had been his father's bracelet; wearing it became the last vestige of connection to his family and a reminder that no matter how dark it got, he wasn't alone and, if it came to it, he could call, and his father would answer.

Then came Pin-Pin Pula and that damned explosion and amnesia.

With the exception of Ducky, Gibbs had never admitted to anyone the lingering trauma resulting from that night 12 years ago. Reliving Shannon and Kelly's death with visceral immediacy had shattered the healing he managed in the decade and a half since the murder. It was as if he was starting from scratch.

Prior to the explosion, he had learned to live with the loss like a low hum in the back of his mind...but after, it roared for attention like a constant, painful thrum, echoing every moment he wasn't occupied. The memory loss left him without any of the coping mechanisms he had forged over the years. He had even forgotten he had overcome sleeping on the couch before he and Diane got married; he was suddenly once again unable to bring himself to sleep in the master bedroom.

That wasn't the only thing he forgot; He tried to cover with jokes or silence but even after coming back from Mexico there were times when he legitimately confused the names of common forms and forgot important things like Kate and Pacci's death's. He had been home for 6 months when Jeff Amado's widow had called, wondering where he had been.

The two of them had forged a close, comforting relationship since his old Marine friend had passed; she'd pick him up from a case or just come over and sit in his basement on the nights when the loneliness closed in and she needed a companion who knew better than to ask her how she was doing. They had been that close...and he had totally forgotten her.

So it wasn't surprising he had forgotten the bracelet was part of his daily routine. He shouldn't have been ashamed that he overlooked something so small when he was still figuring out the bigger pieces of his life's puzzle...but when he did remember, it felt as if he had forgotten his own father; the man who raised him and taught him the important things in life.

For a long time the bracelet remained tucked in his end table, moved from a talisman of comfort to a reminder of the guilt he felt for the rift between them. A few years back, when Jackson had died, Gibbs had taken the bracelet out, considering framing it. Instead, the small bracelet found itself carried around in his pocket or laid out on the mantel as he mulled over the best ways to honor his father.

It had been in his pocket the day they decided to fly to Paraguay. He had exchanged it in the drawer for his passport, wary of the infamous pickpockets in Asuncion.

In the dark times in the cell, as he watched Tim sleep and tried to ignore his own pains, Gibbs found his mind drifting to his father and contemplating the greater things of the universe. Was it was possible that his father could see him, there in that ship; possible his father was still looking out for him and would be there, waiting for him, alongside his girls, the day this was finally over?

He still wasn't sure how to articulate where the whole experience had left him, but he knew spiritually there was something new to hold on to and for the first time in over a decade it felt important that he keep his father's id bracelet close again.

As he stood alone in his basement feeling aimless and restless, his mind wandered again to his Dad and what he might say if he could call him for comfort; _'Hard work clears the mind, Leroy.'_

Flexing his hand and glancing at his tools he knew it wasn't a good plan to try and start at something requiring dexterity. Grabbing a sanding block he ducked under the overturned vessel, and climbed inside. Lying on the upended slats he began to sand at the windshield grooves.

Surrounded on all sides by wood, safe in his tight little space, lulled by the rhythm of sanding the wood smooth and memories of his father, Leroy Jethro Gibbs finally allowed himself to let go and fall asleep.


	12. Chapter 12 - McGee

Tim stood in the center of his closet and stared at the clothes.

Not long after prying himself from Delilah, he had hastily thrown on a loose button up and old jeans before returning to the living room to lounge with his friends and teammates, smiling happily as they shared stories of their fears and worries and cases he had missed. The healthy dinner Delilah had been preparing was left forgotten in the kitchen as Ellie arrived with a stack of hot pizza, followed by Ducky and Palmer with a bottle of champagne.

Tim had basked in their company, and their words. For a few hours he almost felt normal; even managing a whole piece of Hawaiian pizza.

But now, Abbey had left, finally giving in to her need to find Gibbs, Ducky had driven a tipsy Palmer home, and Ellie had prodded Nick out the door when he had begun to get maudlin, trying to apologize again and again.

It was just him and Delilah.

When the door first shut behind Bishop and Torres, Delilah had shifted on the couch with speed he couldn't have predicted, catching him in a long passionate kiss. He returned the embrace and even felt himself reacting to his desire but both of their physical and emotional exhaustion had the kiss fading into a comforting embrace. Before long she had pushed off his shoulder, shooing him to get into 'real comfy clothes' before they passed out on the sofa instead of their bed.

So here he stood, dumbstruck by his own collection of clothes.

Why did he have so many t-shirts? Each one cleaner and softer than the last.

The sound of Delilah's chair rolled closer and he grabbed the shirt on top, flipping it over his head before she turned the corner and could see the bruising still across his torso. He was just as aware of the rope burns on his wrists and knew she was too; her fingers had gilded up his sleeve when they were on the couch and he could feel her tension as she realized the damage there.

He turned and smiled as she sat in the closet doorway, "Ready for bed?"

Instead of the expected smile in return, Delilah began to cry.

"Honey?" The grin slid off his face and Tim knelt in front of her.

She shook her head, blinking away her tears, "I'm sorry, I know I said I was done crying but I just missed you so much, every night and here you are, looking just like you..."

"Shhh, shhh, shhh…It's okay." He leaned up to press his forehead against hers, "You never have to apologize to me."

Her chin wavered and she blinked back more tears before placing her hands on his face and pulling him close for a deep kiss.

When they broke apart he had to swallow and take a moment to collect himself.

"Well..." Delilah tugged lightly on his bearded chin, " _Almost_ like yourself."

He sat back on his heels, "You know, I decided that my gift to you is that you get to decide what I do with it."

Her brow furrowed, "You mean you want to keep it?"

"I mean that I would if you want me to." He clarified, "You've never seen me with a beard; it's your choice."

She blinked, tilting her head, eyes tracing his face. Finally she tilted back, "What do _you_ think of it?"

He had considered the question as he brushed his teeth earlier. The facial hair wasn't trendy or hipster like the 5 o'clock shadow that Torres always seemed to have. Nor was it overwhelming and bushy like many of the special ops men he had met. It was unmistakably there, but understated. It made him look older, experienced.

When he looked in the mirror the new face that looked back matched his mental image of himself, unlike the peppy clean cut visage that had smiled back at him from the various photos Delilah had posed in every room.

He shrugged, "I don't really have an opinion."

Her eyes narrowed but she nodded, slowly. "Well. I think you should keep it, for now." Her hands stroked his jawline, "Tomorrow morning I'll help you shape it, clean up the edges."

"Sounds like a plan." He nodded, planting a kiss to her forehead and moving to the bed.

He lay back, containing a jerk reflex at the unfamiliar sensation of falling in to the soft memory foam mattress. He exhaled, they had done a lot of research before buying this mattress, it was perfect for all his pressure points and had always provided a solid night's sleep.

Delilah rolled close, gently laying her head on his chest and draping an arm across his ribs before shutting of the voice activated lights. "Lights off."

Tim inhaled deeply through his nose. This is where he wanted to be. At home, embracing his wife. It was hard to believe that it was only that morning that he had woken up on the Larson.

Granted, it was after 1am and he had been awake since 0500 of whatever timezone the Larson had been in.

He _was_ exhausted.

But he couldn't seem to keep his eyes closed. First they drifted to the darkness behind the bathroom door. Then, his heart sped up as he fought to remember if they had locked the door behind Torres and Bishop.

He flexed his shoulder blades, the cloud like mattress seeming to loose it's comfort.

He wondered what Gibbs was doing; if he was home or if he had stayed in the office or some alternative. Ellie mentioned she had seen him, that the only person missing from tonight's team reunion had declined her invitation. His stomach clenched and he had to consciously resist the urge to roll out of bed and call the other man.

It's not like he had anything to say.

So instead, Tim stayed where he was, looking up to the dark ceiling and wondering...wondering and worrying and not sleeping.


	13. Chapter 13 - Gibbs

Gibbs was startled awake by the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

Instinctively freezing in place, his heart palpated in his chest, only slightly calmed by the scent and feel of the wood around him.

Breathing silently, he waited for the steps to continue their approach.

Whoever it was hesitated at the bottom of the stairs before tracing his steps from the night before, moving to the workbench and stilling.

Craning his neck, Gibbs angled to look through the bottom of the slats he rested on. With a mix of relief and amusement he exhaled a sigh at the black platform boots with red flames painted up the heel.

He knew his sigh had been heard when the boots turned in his direction.

"…Gibbs?..."

He cleared his throat, "Yeah?"

The boots stepped closer before a knee was bent and next thing he knew Abbey's head was popping up by his chest.

"You're here." She said simply, blinking at him, eyes moving across his face.

He shrugged and stretched best he could, "Not the first time I fell asleep working on a project."

She didn't say anything or give any indication that she saw through his thin explanation for being holed up in the security of his boat; she just kept staring at him.

With a small smile he started to reach for her hair but pulled back as he watched her eyes widen at his malformed knuckle.

Her brow furrowed and she looked to him with sad eyes as she reached out, stopping his hand's retreat, covering his fingers with her own.

He swallowed and looked down, of course the reaction her face had simply been one of surprise; Abbey was too big hearted for anything else. He turned his palm over and squeezed her fingers, smiling at her.

It was at that point the tears began; big, full tears rolled down her cheeks as her chin trembled with the force of trying to keep it in. "Gibbs…" She cracked.

He sighed. This was the inevitable moment he had only dared to begin to imagine at some point after boarding that helicopter in Paraguay.

Moving a hand to her face he wiped away a tear with his thumb, "Move…"

She shifted so he could twist out of where he had been ensconced. Ducking out from under the boat he stood, managing a quick stretch of his back before Abbey was launching herself into his arms and her tears were falling upon his neck.

"Hey Abs." He whispered, tucking his face close to hers and returning the embrace.

Her fingers tightened into his shoulders, "I didn't think I'd ever see you again…"

"I'm here." He muttered, planting a kiss into her hair.

"You didn't come to McGee's last night; he said you were okay and Bishop said you stayed in the office so I went there, after, when we left Tim and Delilah's but you weren't there anymore and I almost came here but then I thought if you didn't come with Tim or Ellie then maybe that meant you wanted to be alone and it was late but I remembered I was going to replace your groceries today so I stayed in the lab until the store opened and I got you eggs and bacon and whole milk just like you like and some bread and ham and cheese and I came over but then the door was locked and I went back to the car but I had these groceries so I figured I could unlock the door and put them away without disturbing you but then the light was on in the basement so I came down but you didn't appear to be here and then I heard you and I couldn't leave and I'm sorry if you don't want me here right now but I just really needed to see you for myself because I've missed you so much Gibbs even though I never thought you and Tim were dead; I knew it, in my own gut, I knew it, I really knew it but that almost made it worse because I was so worried…"

"Abs…Abs…" Gibbs tightened his hold on her until she stopped her rambling, "I missed you too." He pulled back to smile at her, "And I'm glad you're here."

"Really?" The uncertainty in her voice pulled at him.

There had been long stretches of time over the past dozen plus years where the woman in front of him had been his only source of human interaction that wasn't strictly professional. While she could often stray into the overly bombastic with Tony, he knew it was because she enjoyed being the only person who could regularly get away with teasing him. He'd never admit it, but he appreciated it; the pull to reality when he was otherwise obsessively fixated on a case and the dark side of what humans could do to one another.

Ultimately, she was the most genuine, caring person he knew. It was Abbey who was responsible for him starting to look at his coworkers as family. From the very first day he met her, she made it clear she was willing and able to fill that hole in his life. The times she sought him out for comfort made him feel needed and loved in a way he had thought had been lost to him.

He held her shoulders and tried to put all of those feelings in to his eyes, " _Really._ "

Her tears continued to fall but a shaky smile grew. Her right hand released its grip on him to reach up and gently stroke the bruising around his eye. "Are you okay?"

"Better now." He tried to grin, tilting his head.

"Gibbs…" She admonished. "Really?"

He pulled back until her hand dropped from his face and he shrugged, "I'm home."

Her eyes narrowed, clearly not accepting the brush off but uncertain how hard to pry.

He stared back, eyebrows raising.

With a huff she relented, "Can I make you breakfast?"

"Does it include coffee?"

She grinned, grabbing his hand and pulling his arm over her shoulder as she guided them back to the stairs.


	14. Chapter 14 - McGee

Tim shifted again on the soft mattress as he watched Delilah sleep.

He had spent 2 months picturing this exact scene but the reality seemed off. The bed felt odd against the taught muscles of his back and he hadn't been able to sleep, fitfully turning over. Delilah had spent half the night awake, trying to soothe him back to sleep.

He frowned, she needed her sleep and his discomfort shouldn't disturb that. Maybe he should try sleeping on the couch or even on the floor until he acclimated back to their bed. It would be best for her.

Giving up on the possibility of falling back asleep, he swung his feet out of the bed and, sparing a moment to look over his sleeping wife, moved to the kitchen.

On autopilot he flicked on the coffee maker, pausing at the action to wonder if Gibbs had managed to have a cup yet.

The thought made him smile and he considered calling the other man but he stopped himself; Ellie had said Gibbs had turned down her offer to the join the team at the apartment last night. If Gibbs wanted time alone, Tim wasn't going to interrupt that, possibly waking the other man, just because _he_ couldn't sleep.

He pressed his hands against the counter, it was quiet. The previous evening was good; surrounded by all the cheer he didn't have time or space to disappear into his own thoughts, to wonder how he deserved this unbelievable ending and what was coming next.

But now, alone, with the first light of dawn coming through the window, the stillness was suffocating.

His eyes flicked to the phone on the counter before looking to the clock and doing some quick math.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he picked up the phone and dialed the number scrawled on a notecard on the fridge.

The familiar tinny ring of an international call rang twice before a familiar voice answered, _"Delilah?"_

"No, Tony, it's me."

There was a silence before a shout, _"Tim?!"_

He smiled at the happiness he heard in the other man's voice. "Yeah."

 _"You're home? How? What happened? Where's Gibbs? Are you okay? Hold on…let me get outside…Damn, McGee, what happened?"_

Looking back to the bedroom to make sure he wasn't disturbing his wife, Tim moved to the kitchen window. "Yeah, I'm home. Gibbs is too. We're…as okay as you could expect I guess."

 _"How? Last I spoke to anyone they thought they had a lead. That was just a few days ago, no way I would have guessed you'd be home this fast. No one told me it all panned out and they actually found you."_

"We kind of found each other." Tim shrugged, "Their rescue coincided with our escape attempt."

 _"Of course you escaped. I told Bishop that you and Gibbs wouldn't just be sitting around waiting."_

"Well…we did for a while." He fiddled with the window, "The opportunity needed to present itself."

 _"I'm just glad it did."_ There was a pause, _"You're really okay?"_

"Yeah." Tim shrugged, "Need to work on eating right again and I've got those lovely rope burns from being tied up but overall nothing much worse than when we went after Saleem in Somalia." He winced at the memory of feigning unconsciousness while the terrorist had drugged and hit Tony. "Gibbs took the brunt of it."

 _"Took the brunt of it?" Tony echoed, "What does that mean? I thought he was okay?"_

"He is. It was just a little rougher for him." He assured quickly, biting down on the inside of his lip. It felt like an insult to describe the torture he witnessed as _'just a little rougher'_ but it wasn't his trauma to share.

Tony seemed to pick up that Tim was holding out, " _But he's home? I can call him at his place?"_

Tim swallowed, selfishly not wanting the conversation to end yet, "Uh, yeah, but he went home pretty late last night. I actually called you instead of checking in on him because I think he's probably still sleeping."

 _"Checking on him? He's alone?"_

"Well yeah Tony, he's alone." Tim snapped, "He's Gibbs, he's always alone." He immediately felt bad for the derision but he was getting annoyed at Tony's focus on their boss and the guilt he was feeling for the other man being alone while Tim had his wife and their team to come home to.

He sighed, "I…"

 _"I get it."_ Tony cut him off without fault, _"Tell me what happened; How'd you get home?"_

Tim poured the coffee and looked to the chairs and plush couch before settling himself on to the floor, leaning against the wall, "A helicopter to a Navy ship to a helicopter to Gitmo where Vance picked us up in SecNav's gulfstream."

 _"Vance? Picked you up in Cuba?"_

"Yeah. It was pretty cool." Tim grinned, "Gibbs talked about how you and Kate took the same plane to Cuba on a case once."

 _"That's right!"_ Tim could imagine Tony's eyes widening in excitement, _"That was so cool, did you play with the fridge? Push a button and there it is; appearing out of the wall!"_

Tim chuckled, "Yeah, I saw that."

 _"That was the case we first met Cassidy…"_ Tony's voice faded out as it would whenever he talked about people they had lost.

Tim let the silence sit.

When Tony spoke again his voice was reflective, " _I'm_ _really glad to hear you're okay Tim. Really."_

He smiled at the earnestness in his friend's voice and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall, "Thanks Tony."

There was a sound on the other end of the line that sounded suspiciously like the clearing of a throat, _"Yeah, cause you're about to be a parent and I've really been looking forward to having someone to commiserate with about the joys of fatherhood."_

"Commiserate about the joys?" Tim opened his eyes, frowning at the incongruous words.

 _"It's complicated. You'll understand soon enough and I expect phone calls when you do!"_

"You got it, Tony. I promise." Tim grinned, "How is Tali?"

 _"She's three, McGee; what is life other than fantastic when you're three?"_ Tony snorted, _"Senior visited for two weeks last month. Each time he visits he spoils her rotten and after he leaves we have to go through a detox phase where my daughter says 'no' to me in four different languages."_

Tim smirked, Tony may have been complaining but the pride and happiness in his voice were clear. "Four languages now? Hebrew, English and French…what is she picking up now?"

 _"I'm still working on Mandarin and just from having the software in the background while she plays she's picking it up faster than me_." Tony snorted, _"They aren't joking when they say kids are sponges."_

"Sounds like her mother." Tim's smile faded.

 _"Just like her."_ Tony agreed without hint of sarcasm or complaint. There was shifting on the other end of the line, _"Speaking of my little partner in crime, I'm going to need to go to pick her up from play group but we should talk again soon. I assume you're taking some time before going back to work; maybe we can figure out a visit or something?"_

Tim blinked. Go back to work? He hadn't even thought about work outside of the people. The idea of falling back in to the routine of going to the office, taking orders from a distant Gibbs and spending hours sorting through lines of code and bank statements seemed so foreign.

Over the whole journey from Cuba to his front door Vance never mentioned returning to work and Tim hadn't thought to bring it up. He knew it had to be on Gibbs' mind, the man lived to work, but even he hadn't spoken about it, at least not in front of Tim.

He shook off the thoughts to return to Tony's question, "Uh maybe. Dee and I have a lot to talk about and I already promised a visit with my sister and my Mom."

 _"I get it. Family first."_ There was a huffed chuckle, _"And I wouldn't blame you for not being eager to travel far from home for a while."_

"Yeah..." McGee agreed with a smirk, "There's that."

 _"Okay, well, we should at least skype or something. I need to see with my own eyes that my probie is intact."_

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Tim's smirk settled in to a smile at the old nickname that once held such derision but had developed into something closer to affection.

He looked to the fridge where there was pinned an old picture from a Thanksgiving at Ducky's house. A case had undermined all of their other plans and there they were, together, like a real family. He stood next to Abbey who had her arms around a reluctant Gibbs, pulling him into the picture. Ducky was on the other side, tripping into the frame after setting up the automatic timer. Tony looked innocently into the camera but next to him Ziva was bending away with a look of shocked amusement on her face which Tim knew to be a result of Tony poking her in places one should not be poking a coworker.

There was another version of the picture, more posed after Jimmy had shown up with dessert and Ducky insisted on a redo, but Tim knew this more chaotic version was the one that Tony and Ziva had also kept for themselves.

"Tony…" He swallowed, eyes not leaving the picture, "You should call Gibbs."

There was a long pause, _"Yeah? I shouldn't wait a day or two?"_

Tim sighed.

He was glad to be home but he was keenly aware of the distance between himself and the man whom had been there with him for nearly every minute of every day of the last two months. With his new found understanding he knew that Gibbs wasn't as stalwart as he projected himself to be. He may want to be alone but he certainly wouldn't oppose a call from the man who had been closer to him than anyone for 15 years.

"No, Tony. Give him a call."


	15. Chapter 15 - Gibbs

Gibbs stood in his entryway, staring at the lock on his front door.

Abbey had stayed the morning, making him breakfast and not commenting when he was barely able to finish half of the already smaller than normal portion. She had sat with him as he shaved, swinging her feet and going on about Quinn's mom and everything else he had missed. After, she drove him to Bethesda so he could get the primary evaluation taken care of and determine a course of action for getting back to working condition.

They had stopped at the grocery store on the way home so he could pick up a few items Abbey wouldn't have known he wanted and Abbey had dragged him to an ice cream shop. He had truly enjoyed the companionship over the course of the morning but Abbey seemed to be aware of not wanting to push the limit and, after an awkward hug, she stayed in the car when they pulled up back in front of the house, leaving him to return to his solitude.

Entering the house, he closed the door with a kick but paused on the way to the kitchen. Turning around, he chastised himself for the weakness of feeling compelled to lock the door. Last night was one thing, but it was day time and he'd had slept soundly, spent the morning with the effervescent positivity that was Abigail Scuito and knew beyond a doubt that this wasn't a dream; he was home and he was safe.

So why did his stomach painfully clench at the possibility of leaving the door unlocked?

With a frustrated grunt he flipped the knob. He could give himself one more day of this little comfort.

He pushed the internal conflict to the back of his mind and made quick work of the groceries before starting a fire and tossing a t-bone on the cooking grate. He briefly considered making some coffee but if he were honest he was still shaking with the caffeine buzz from the first cup that morning.

It had been liquid comfort but it was going to take a while to get his tolerance back. He couldn't bring himself to drink decaf coffee so he put on the tea kettle instead as he waited for the steak to cook.

He forced himself to eat an extra couple of bites past when he felt full but there was still nearly a third of the meal on the plate. He covered it with saran wrap and put it in the fridge.

Standing back in the center of the kitchen he rubbed his hands together and looked around.

He had spoken briefly with Ducky but he knew he would still be at work, as would Fornell. He assumed the FBI agent knew he was home and anticipated a call if not an unannounced visit around dinner.

He could go to the diner but he wasn't ready for food or the coffee that Elaine would be eager to shovel into him. At some point he should head to the gym but the twinges in his back and side told him clearly he wasn't ready for that either. The pain in his hand also curtailed his desire to go work on the boat.

There was no work-related paperwork to go over. Whomever had tended to his house had removed the files he kept on the kitchen table and there was nothing to peruse through.

He huffed. At least when he was recovering after Iraq the meds and burden of recovery had him sleeping away most of the early days, but now he wasn't tired.

That wasn't true, he _was_ tired; bone weary, in fact, but not in the way that made him want to sleep.

When he was in the corps, after a deployment he and the guys would spend afternoons sprawled across someone's patio, sharing beers and laughs until they had reenergized enough to find the lethargy distasteful.

He didn't have any beer in fridge but there was bourbon downstairs…he grimaced and stopped the thought, it was too soon to start with that, potentially dangerous.

He reached for the id bracelet on his wrist. If he could, he would have called his Dad. They had fallen into a pattern where they would speak every Sunday the last few years of his father's life. At first the conversations had been short and stilted but as they became more regular they found more things to talk about and building the relationship that had eluded them through his youth.

Even as a grown man his father could still make him feel like a child and in his reluctant vulnerable moment he wished for the grounding sound of his father's low rumble going on about happenings in the store and around the town.

Exhaling he shook away the thought, no sense getting melancholy.

He looked to the phone, Tim was probably be thrilled to be with Delilah and likely enjoyed the chaos of the team night, but just as likely was allowing himself to be caught in his own mind, over thinking things. Perhaps he should call him; if he couldn't receive that stabilization from his Dad perhaps he could feel productive by being that grounding force for someone else.

Just as he were about to reach for the phone, it rang.

Raising his eyebrows, he picked up, "Yeah, Gibbs."

There was a long pause and then a cleared throat, _"Hey Boss."_

He blinked, "DiNozzo?"

 _"Heh, yeah…I, uh…spoke to McGee this afternoon…I mean this morning DC time…he let me know you're home."_

Gibbs slowly lowered himself into a dining room chair. He had kept in touch with Tony but it was mostly in the form of short emails, often with a picture of Tali and an obliquely phrased fatherhood question. It had been a long time since they had actually talked.

"Yeah. Last night." He managed, casually, as if just returning from a trip.

 _"So…_ " Tony's started aimlessly.

Gibbs smiled, pleased that Tony had been compelled to call even without plan.

 _"You breaking down Vance's door about getting back to work yet?"_

He smirked, the former agent knew him well. "We talked."

 _"Of course you did."_ Tony snicked, _"So…you're okay?"_

Gibbs swallowed. There were too many different answers to the question.

Tony picked up on the delay, _"Bad question, I know."_

The blunt understanding reminded him of the familiarity he and the younger man had shared. Pushing his lips together he thought of all the things he hadn't said. "I've missed ya, Tony."

He could imagine the surprised blinking and head pulled back reaction those words had likely provoked.

 _"So that's a no…you're not okay then…"_

He chuckled, "In someways...Better than ever in others."

 _"One of those life changing experiences?"_

"We'll see." He fidgeted with the tea bag hanging over the edge of the mug. "What's going on with you?"

 _"Uh, well, life goes on, you know."_

"Mhrm." He grunted. "And Tali?"

 _"Perfect."_ Came the automatic reply.

Gibbs smiled. Tony had long professed a discomfort for children but it was no surprise that he hadn't taken the blessing of fatherhood for granted.

The silence stretched between the two of them but Gibbs made no move to get off the call.

Finally, Tony broke the silence, _"How long before Vance lets you start back?"_

He winced and scratched at the back of his ear, "At least a week before we can even talk about desk duty."

 _"That's to be expected I guess."_

"Yeah..." He winced, he didn't intend for the word to come out sounding so petulant and forlorn.

 _"What are you going to do?"_

Gibbs rolled his eyes, "Eat. Sleep. What do you think?"

There was a long pause, and then, "How _about doing that in Paris?"_

He frowned, did Tony just ask him what he thought he did? "What?"

 _"I just…I know how stir crazy you were when you couldn't work after Iraq…and I want Tali to know the people who knew both her mom and me and it's been over a year and I just...Don't make me try and explain this, you know exactly what I said and why."_

Gibbs swallowed. He knew that Tony wouldn't be immune from the stress of worrying over him and Tim but he honestly hadn't expected the invitation. He knew he considered his team family but he also knew they each had their own _real_ families and there were some lines that weren't crossed; especially with 'the boss'.

He smirked, "You know, I'm not sure I can."

 _"You need permission from a doctor or something?"_

"Not quite…" He squinted into his memories, "Last time I was in Paris…" He cleared his throat, "Let's just say I was escorted to the airport by the State Department."

There was a pause as Tony skimmed his memory for an explanation, _"When you were on a mission with Jenny Shephard…"_

He nodded, he knew his senior field agent had always known more than he was supposed to, "All didn't go according to plan and someone needed to take the heat."

Tony huffed, amused. _"Okay, well, assuming that's no longer an issue, would you come?"_

Gibbs sat on the question, rolling it over in his mind. He absolutely thought Tony had made the right choice for him and Tali by getting away from his life in DC but Gibbs had quietly regretted not being able to spend time with the little girl and he did miss the random evenings of Tony coming over for a steak and a beer or a bourbon and limited conversation.

His eyes tracked to the front door with the secured lock. Maybe getting away for a few days would be a good thing for other reasons. Acclimate to freedom and safety without the pressure of familiar habits. Take a few more days to heal so he wouldn't keep getting the looks like he received from Bishop and Abbey when they took in the damage to his face.

He swallowed, "Would tomorrow be too soon?"


	16. Chapter 16 - McGee

"And so I told Jeremy that if legal didn't want to work with us then my hands were tied and there was nothing else we could do." Delilah faded out of her story, wincing and glancing down.

"What?" Tim frowned. He had actually been enjoying her going on about the various projects she had been developing; for a moment he had forgotten everything else and felt normal. All he needed was some story of his own and it would be just like the download dinners they had practiced when they were in the old apartment.

She shook her head, "Nothing…I just…I'm sorry…I need to be more careful with my words…"

He blinked, "What did you…?" He paused scanning over the last thing she said, hitting upon it as he noticed her eyes sliding down to his wrists where the rope burns stood out starkly against his pale skin. "…oh…Hon…"

"I'm sorry." She repeated.

He sighed and moved his hands to his lap, under the table. "Dee, it's fine, really. I didn't even notice until you stopped. You don't need to watch your words with me."

"Are you sure about that, Tim?" She sighed, "I am so happy you're here but we can't just act like nothing ever happened. Earlier, when I was talking about the last doctor's visit, I saw you flinch. I know you're upset about what you missed and I know there have to be other things you're thinking about. I don't know what the right thing to do or say is; you need to give me some guidance."

"Delilah…" He pursed his lips and breathed out his nose, "It's okay. Yes, I feel bad about what I missed and I certainly don't mean to make you feel guilty, that's for me to deal with, it's not on you to worry about. You don't need to worry about anything."

She snorted, "How about you think about that one and tell me just how likely it is that I won't worry about you?"

"Right." He relaxed back into his chair with a smile, "I'm just saying you don't need to go overboard worrying about every little thing. I'm home, with you. That's all I need for everything to be right in the world. I'm really okay."

"Mhrm." She narrowed her eyes, "You didn't sleep much last night."

He clenched his molars but tried to keep the expression on his face light, "Yeah, I know. I think it was a combination of not being used to the soft mattress and excitement. We came home so fast that it still feels a little surreal; I needed to make sure it wasn't a dream."

She tilted her head with tender eyes, "It's not."

He nodded wordlessly, not giving voice to the the annoyingly persistent thought that there really was no way to know for sure.

"And," She continued, "Maybe we can do something about the bed. I've heard about people having a hard time getting back to normal sleep habits after all sorts of situations. Maybe you try sleeping on the yoga mat for a night or two? Or a camping cot?"

He nodded stiffly. His heart really wanted to just be able to wrap himself around his wife and growing child and drift to sleep, but he knew that her suggestions probably had merit.

Before he could discuss it more, the phone rang. He made no move to get it, if it was someone he hadn't yet spoken with he didn't feel like going through the whole process of assuring the other person he was okay.

Silently understanding, Delilah rolled back to the kitchen, picking up the phone.

"Hello?" "Oh! Hi!" Her voice rang happily from the other room. "I promise I'm not going to ask you how you're doing..."

Tim's ears perked up; It had to be Gibbs.

He exhaled and clenched his fingers, where they suddenly had begun shaking. His boss hadn't been far from his mind all day but he had willed himself against calling, forcing himself to reestablish their norms. He had Delilah, he didn't need Gibbs.

Still...he couldn't deny the rush of relief knowing the other man called. It was probably just to check in, it sounded like there wasn't any urgency behind the call based on Delilah's side of it.

"Yes, yeah, fine and healthy." "Did Abbey make it over there this morning?" "Good. Good."

Maybe that was an option. After dinner, he could head over to Gibbs' until Delilah fell asleep then he could come home and get himself settled without her waiting up, worrying about him.

Maybe that was why Gibbs was calling...He probably had just as difficult time sleeping as himself. Maybe he wanted Tim to come over and they could sit in the basement and not talk much. He knew that's what Tony used to do sometimes when he was being particularly pensive.

The idea began to appeal to him so much that Tim started planning the route to Gibbs' house that would bring him past a liquor store so he could pick up something.

"Yes, of course, he's right here." Delilah appeared back in the dining room with a smile and holding out the phone.

Tim accepted it, adjusting in his seat so his head would obscure Delilah's view of his scarred wrist as he held the phone up. "Boss?"

 _"McGee."_ He could hear his boss' smile through the single word.

"Hey, how's it going?"

 _"Alright. You?"_

"Uh…Good, yeah great." He forced a smile, watching Delilah watch him. "It was great to see everyone last night and I talked to Tony this morning and had a long call with my Mom, and Dee just made a great meatloaf."

 _"Well that sounds real good, Tim. Settling back in isn't always easy."_

He swallowed. It was said casually but he knew he was being called out, "Yeah, well there was some tossing and turning last night. We were just talking about possible fixes for tonight."

 _"Mhrm. Not uncommon."_

He was tempted to ask Gibbs how he had done the previous night but somehow it didn't seem right in front of Delilah. That would be something he'd wait to bring up until they were alone again.

"I considered calling earlier today but I didn't want to intrude." He admitted.

 _"Don't be stupid McGee. You can call anytime."_ There was a pause and a shuffle, _"Actually, that's why I'm calling."_

Tim smiled and breathed, waiting for the invitation.

 _"I talked to DiNozzo too. I'm heading over to his place for a few days. Picked up a new phone so I can stay in touch; wanted you to have the number in case…I...in case you wanted it."_

Tim blinked. "You're going to Paris?"

 _"Just for a little while. Don't have much else to do and someone needs to show Tony how to put together a child's bike."_

"What…" He wanted to ask ' _what about me?_ ' but he knew the question was unfair; he was home with his wife and soon his mother, sister and grandmother. Gibbs had no one. It made all the sense in the world for him to take some semblance of a vacation and visit with what he considered family. "…about Abbey? All she could do was talk about you last night."

 _"She came over this morning, left right before lunch. She'll understand."_

"And everyone else? They were worried, you know." He forced himself to breath. His heart was suddenly racing in his chest and he didn't want either Gibbs or Delilah to realize how close he was to a panic attack.

 _"I know. Fornell roped Emily in to helping me buy the new phone and Ducky is joining us for dinner before bringing me to the airport. I'm not worried about anyone else. They weren't beating down my door anyway; they'll understand."_

"Yeah. Okay." He winced, trying to recall his own reasons for turning down Tony's offer to him that morning, "And you're okay not being home so soon after getting back?"

He heard the ruffle of a shrug, _"Home is more than a house."_

"Yeah." Tim swallowed, truly understanding what he meant, "Yeah."

 _"Appreciate the concern though."_

He exhaled, "Right. Sure thing, Boss."

There was a heavy pause before Gibbs spoke again, " _You sure you're doing alright, McGee?"_

Of course Gibbs could tell something was off. Tim winced; he wasn't about to get in the way of Gibbs doing something good for himself for once, "Uh yeah. Of course. Just think I ate too much." He pulled on a smile, "This meatloaf is my favorite, you know?"

 _"Gotta be careful, Tim. Pace yourself."_

Somehow, he suspected the advice was about more than just the food.

 _"Alright, you got a pen?"_

"Pen?" He looked up to see Delilah pulling a pen and pad out of a drawer. "Okay, shoot."

 _"555-7643. I'll be in the air for about 7 hours starting at 2300 but other than that, you know you can always call."_

"Yeah, of course Boss. Don't worry about me. Have a good time." He held in the desire to ask specifically what the flight number when he was coming back.

 _"Take care of yourself, McGee and give your wife an extra hug."_

"Will do. Safe travels." For a second, an image of the plane crash they had investigated flashed through his mind and he suppressed the chill that ran down his spine.

" _Talk to ya later, Tim."_

There was a click and then silence.

He stared at the phone for a long moment after he hung up.

"Safe travels?" Delilah tilted her head.

"Paris. To visit Tony." He swallowed his frown, slowly placing the phone on the table next to the pad with the cell number on it.

"That's good, don't you think? I was honestly feeling bad for him, coming back to that big empty house." Delilah poured some more wine into her glass and looked at Tim over the rim.

"Yeah." He nodded, not sure how to process the feelings going through him at the moment. Gibbs sounded good, happy even, with no hint of it being forced. And he was just going to hop on a plane and go on vacation while Tim was still struggling with just being home.

He stopped and took a breath. It wasn't fair to be frustrated, if the other man was having an easier time of things, then good for him. Besides, Gibbs had been through crazy traumas before; of course he'd be better at this, it didn't mean anything was wrong with _him_. He just needed to do as the man said and pace himself.

He smiled weakly at Delilah, "So, what's next?"


	17. Chapter 17 - Gibbs

_A/N - Thank you SO much for the continued readership, follows and reviews; it's very encouraging! I do like to touch base and chat with reviewers from time to time and have been known to adjust story elements after a conversation so if you have suggestions or critiques I'd love it if you would comment under your FF username or send a pm so I can follow up with you about it. I have reasons for almost everything but I don't like taking up too much space with author's notes so prefer to address concerns on a person to person basis._

 _That being said - some response to feedback: I am trying to keep this as close to 'in character' as possible, which sometimes means dancing around an issue or abruptly changing the subject. ALSO I'm keeping episode 15x2 in mind - if you haven't seen it, there are 2 elements I'm laying the foundation to: 1) From how they greet each other it appears McGee and Gibbs have not seen one another in a while prior to the episode (hence Gibbs going to France!) and 2) McGee is hiding / in denial about how poorly he's dealing with the aftermath of Paraguay while Gibbs is in a better place (while still having some issues)._

 _Thanks again! If it weren't for the fact that people enjoy this, these stories would just live on my computer and I appreciate the opportunity to share!_

* * *

Shouldering his bag, Gibbs scanned the airport. The terminal he had flown into looked practically new, but this area was much more reminiscent of the one he had passed through in 1999.

Exiting the last secured area, he stepped into the public foyer. Even with the crowds it was not hard to spot the familiar stroll-like gait of his former Senior Agent.

He shifted the bag on his shoulder and held up a hand. He knew he had caught DiNozzo's attention as a grin split his face and he quickened his pace.

"Boss!" Tony reached out a hand.

"Not your boss anymore." Gibbs returned, accepting the shake and pulling him in for a brief one-armed hug.

Tony's eyebrows raised and Gibbs noted his attention hesitate on the bruising around his eye but his smile didn't fade, "Burley still called you Boss."

"Burley was still an agent." Gibbs pointed out.

"Ah, fair point." Tony nodded, quickly sobering, "I'm glad you came."

"Me to." Gibbs smirked, "I think."

DiNozzo huffed a laugh and began leading the way to the taxi stand. He nodded to the attendant and they waited in silence, Tony bouncing on his heels and casting uncertain glances to Gibbs. When the cab pulled up, he grabbed the door and Gibbs tried to contain his wince when his muscles twinged as he rotated the bag and bent himself into the seat.

He knew he hadn't been successful at concealing his discomfort from the look Tony gave him as he slid in next, giving an address to the driver.

"I take it that's just the surface damage?" Tony asked, gesturing to the cuts and swelling under his eye.

Gibbs shrugged, knowing DiNozzo was smart enough to know the answer, "You should have seen it before the swelling went down."

He smirked and nodded, "I bet. Only time I've seen you with a shiner close to that was that time the guy jumped you at your truck during the whole thing with Mendez."

Gibbs frowned, "You weren't even there."

"I was after. Remember? You picked me up at the airport and it was like, blah-blam! Cyclops."

Gibbs snorted and Tony smirked.

After a silent moment he looked sideways to his old boss, "And Tim?"

"Few cuts and scratches." Gibbs picked at a thread on his pants, looking out the window as they drove deeper into the city, "He'll have other things to deal with."

He could see Tony's reflection in the glass as he tilted his head, "Coming home isn't so easy?"

Gibbs sighed and turned to look back at him, "Not that he's said yet."

Tony grimaced, "I invited him too."

"I'm not surprised he said no." Gibbs knew that it would take a lot to compel McGee to travel far in the near future. He had spoken often of regretting how much he was missing back home."He's got a lot on his plate."

"You don't?" Tony snorted.

Gibbs shrugged, "Less."

It was true. Without work there was very little tying him to any particular place. It was a strange kind of freedom to be able to decide to book a trip to a different continent with not much more than a few hours notice. Perhaps it was a freedom he took for granted. Maybe next time Vance offered him a vacation he should take it; do some peaceful traveling…

He shifted as a city garden transitioned into a busy urban block with a market place at one end and a medieval church at the other. Last time he was here he had hardly noticed the city itself, so caught up in the mission and the woman he was with.

"I know this street…"

Tony smirked, "You and Jenny Shepherd have a room in one of these buildings? Long nights undercover?"

"No." Gibbs pointed to the corner, "I killed a man in that alley." He slowly turned to smirk at Tony's gobsmacked wide eyes.

" _Ahhh Pari...?_ " Tony eventually offered weakly.

Gibbs laughed. "It's good to see you, DiNozzo."

He wasn't sure why he said it out loud. Certainly, in the moment he had been thinking it. He felt warmed by the familiarity of being able to undermine Tony's expectations and the other man's attempted humor to cover his discomfort.

Tony blinked, "You too…" An odd smile tilted his mouth, "You're…more upbeat than I expected."

Gibbs shrugged, "I'm on vacation."

"Exactly; you hate vacation." Tony arched his eyebrows and waved a pointed finger.

"Sometimes it's not so bad." He looked out the window, more familiar places flying by and the memories beginning to pick up speed.

He shook them off, "Where's Tali?"

"Home, with a neighbor." Tony looked up through the windshield, "I wasn't sure how this was going to go; thought it'd be best to not bring her to the airport."

Gibbs paused at the admission. "Afraid I would scare your daughter?"

"Huh? No, Boss…Gibbs. I just…" Tony stumbled then shrugged, "You might be tired and cranky after a commercial flight or maybe you wanted to hit up a bar…" He sighed and didn't attempt to conceal his prolonged look at the injuries visible on Gibbs' face and hands, "I don't know. You just went through something and I wasn't sure what to expect."

"It's just me." Gibbs tried as lightly as possible even as internally he lauded Tony's caution. The man was a good father.

Accepting Gibbs' assurance Tony smiled, "Okay, we'll go straight home, but fair warning, don't let the little curls and smile fool you, she's not pure sugar and spice and everything nice."

He smiled, recalling how trying a young toddler could be, "Troublesome threes?"

"I don't mean to make it out like my daughter is a monster." Tony held up a hand, "She just has a will stronger than most men. If she has a particular opinion about how something should go, she is damn stubborn."

"Sounds familiar." Gibbs remarked dryly as the cab slowed to a stop on a tree lined residential street.

"Yeah, I'm just lucky she doesn't have her mother's knife skills…yet." Tony muttered exiting the cab and heading up the stairs to a brownstone.

"I was talking about you, DiNozzo." Gibbs clarified with a smirk, slowly unfolding himself from the car.

"Me? Pah!"

"Mhrm." Gibbs muttered, waiting on the steps at Tony unlocked and opened the door.

He gestured for Gibbs to come up and join him in the entryway, calling out, "Tali?" As he kicked shut the door behind them.

"Abba!"

A bustling blur of light brown hair and a purple jumper came hurtling down the hall, wrapping her arms around Tony's legs.

Gibbs smiled at the immediate softening of the other man, despite his grouching moments ago.

"Do you remember who I said was coming for a visit?" Tony bent over, picking her up and bouncing her into his arms.

She bent her head to see around her father and Gibbs arched his eyebrows, smiling, uncertain if she'd recognize him from the occasional video calls Tony had made to the office and the few team pictures in the apartment.

Her eyes narrowed in a strikingly familiar way before her face opened in a beaming smile, "Gib!"

He grinned as she shortened his name with a lilting French emphasis on the i. "Salut Tali."

She grinned happily at his rusty French. "Vous sais Abba!"

"Uh, oui." He tried not to wince as he searched his memory for the language he once used so easily, "J'ai…uh…travaillé avec ton Abba. Uh…"

He looked up to see Tony smirking at him. "What?"

"She speaks English." Tony explained, "She was just responding in French because you started with it."

He blew out a relieved breath, "Good because that's all I've got."

"Yeah, right." Tony rolled his eyes and looked to his daughter, "Where is Madame Addy?"

"The meetbahkh." She pointed to the kitchen.

He tossed a look to Gibbs, "Okay, so her English is a little more like Eng-brew but we're getting there." He put his daughter down, "How about you show Gibbs where the kitchen is?"

She nodded happily, "Allez vous!" She waved her hand beckoning him to follow.

Gibbs nodded but before following her and Tony down the hall he glanced behind him and surreptitiously secured the lock on the front door.


	18. Chapter 18 - McGee

"Oh Timmy!" Penny's hands tightened on either side of his face, "It's so good you're alive."

"Grandma!" Sarah reprimanded from next to Tim.

"What?" Penny shrugged, dropping her hands, "Aren't _you_ glad your brother is alive?"

Sarah rolled her eyes, "Of course but I'm not going to…"

"There you go." Penny cut her off, "And what did I tell you about calling me Grandma?"

"Will the both of you just shush?" His mother placed a strong hand on Penny's shoulder, guiding her a step back from Tim.

He locked eyes with Delilah who rocked in her chair behind Penny, amusement flickering at his family.

Containing an exhale, Tim pulled on a smile for the four women who were the most important people in his life.

They had done not much more but stand around in the living room for the 45 minutes since arriving. His mother had entered the apartment and wrapped her arms around him, not saying a word, the tension of needing to wait 3 days to catch a flight to DC had left her speechless.

Tim decided he preferred the suffocation from his mother to his sister's near manic tears or his grandmother's constant touching and uncomfortably blunt pronouncements.

"It's okay." He nodded, gently taking Penny's hands into his own. "I agree it's good."

"Of _course_ he does!" Penny again reached up, this time stroking his arm.

Sarah shook her head, "Okay, but now that we've spent an hour just standing around marveling at Tim, maybe it's time to go get some food?"

"That's a good plan." His mother nodded, "What do you think Timmy? Are you able to eat restaurant food? Do you have a meal plan you need to be following? Maybe Delilah and I should go to the grocery? I can make something. Eggplant parm? Roasted chicken?"

"No, no, no…" Tim held up his hands, desperate to prevent his mother from taking Delilah and leaving him just with his sister and grandmother. "I'm fine. Let's go out."

"Okay." His mother nodded, "Do you have a preference?"

"Some place with vegetarian options." Penny held up a finger.

"Anywhere we go will have vegetarian options." Sarah rolled her eyes, "Tim needs protein."

"A vegetarian diet provides plenty of protein!" Penny rebuked.

Tim winced. He loved his family, he did. But in all of his daydreams of home he had forgotten about the near constant bickering, "Uh, you know what, I really don't care. I'll eat anything and you guys are the visitors. How about you pick one of the places you miss going to." He gestured over his shoulder, "You talk it out while I use the restroom."

"Okay." "If you're sure, dear." "Do you remember that place near campus?"

Tim hastily stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door before he could be drawn into the discussion.

Blowing out a shaky breath, he grasped either side of the sink and closed his eyes.

He could do this.

He still hadn't managed to have more than a few hours of sleep and wanted nothing other than to lay on the couch with a plate of apple slices and peanut butter and not have to talk to anyone. But his family had come to see him. He needed to keep himself together for them. His mother would never trust that he was okay if he couldn't keep up the energy to get out of the house.

It was just dinner.

He could do this.

He flushed the toilet and splashed his face with water, looking in the mirror as he padded himself dry with the hand towel.

The abrasions were fully healed and he had to part his hair and squint to see the cut on his scalp. His wrists were still a mess but they were covered by his button up and blazer. There might be some circles under his eyes, but nothing worse than when he was working a long case.

He looked fine.

He looked normal.

He could do this.

* * *

Tim ground his teeth and wondered if he should have been more assertive about picking the restaurant the fourth time the back of his chair was jostled in the tight bistro his sister had ultimately guided them to.

The first time a waiter had accidentally tripped into him, Tim had practically jumped out of his seat. Luckily his mother and grandmother were too focused on discussing the menu to notice, but he suspected that Delilah and Sarah had seen and he had offered a self effacing smirk.

It was no big deal.

He could handle this.

He just needed to stay alert. Not be startled.

The next time someone hit his chair he was better about controlling his reaction, his heart had jumped, but he managed to not move, just squeezing the handle of his fork tightly enough that he was certain it would leave marks in his palm. But not even Delilah noticed.

He was fine.

He just didn't like the sudden bumps from behind, no one liked that.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Rafael used to amuse himself by hitting at them from behind with his bat or the fact that the dimly lit bistro cast the same shadows as the Paraguayan ship.

Nope, the tension he was feeling had _nothing_ to do with those memories...

Why did he allow the host to seat them at a center table? Any good agent knows to sit with his back to a wall. He couldn't even see the bar mirror from his seat, there was an entire area of the restaurant he couldn't see.

Anyone could just come up behind him and…

"Tim? Timothy?"

He snapped his head up as his mother pulled his attention.

"Is it not good?" She gestured to the chicken, forgotten and cooling on his plate.

He shrugged, poking at the dinner. "Uh, no, it's fine. May be just a little dry."

"Really?" Sarah questioned, looking at the chicken on her fork, "Mine is perfect. Do you want to switch?"

"No, it's fine." He shook his head, focusing on cutting the chicken into smaller pieces.

Penny leaned over to him, "If it's not good, we should send it back."

"Your grandmother's right." His mom nodded, "You need to be able to eat your dinner."

"No…no, really, it's fine." He rushed out before his mother could gesture for the waiter's attention. He shifted back in his chair until he felt his wife's hand on his forearm.

"Tim's appetite isn't 100% yet." Delilah explained with a smile, "We'll ask for a box and bring it home so he can have it when it comes back later tonight."

"Is that normal?" Penny questioned.

"Grandma!" Sarah shook her head.

Penny leaned back and crossed her arms, "What? Do _you_ know if an irregular appetite is normal after what he just went through?"

"Who knows what's normal?" Sarah shot back, "It's not exactly a regular occurrence!"

Tim slowly exhaled through his nose, focusing on the feel of Delilah's hand on his arm as his sister and Grandmother continued to squibble.

Across the table his mother was staring at him, he tried giving her a comforting smile. He hated he was causing her so much concern. The same guilt that he felt every time Delilah mentioned a pregnancy milestone he had missed flared again as he remembered that his mother had never wanted him to be a field agent, she had pled with him to pursue a computer focused career.

After everything she had done for him, practically raising him on her own, defending him to his father, taking him on scouting trips and then cross country treks first to John Hopkins and then MIT… she didn't deserve to have to worry about if her son was dead or alive for months on end.

He was home now, he was fine, he could show her she didn't need to worry, he could do this.

Squaring his shoulders, he forced a smile. "Yeah, you know actually, sometimes it just takes a little warming up." He stabbed at a green bean and a small piece of chicken with his fork, bringing it to his mouth and chewing. "This really is one of my favorite meals in the city." He put another piece in his mouth. "It's _really_ good."

The women looked at him, warily at first but eventually, after enough bites, their attention returned to their own plates and other topics of conversation.

The chicken tasted like chalk in his mouth and sat like a stone in his stomach but it was worth it to see the worry dissipate from everyone's faces.

He could do this.

He was fine.


	19. Chapter 19 - Gibbs

"Merci." Gibbs dropped a few coins in the shopkeeper's hand and breathed in the coffee's aroma.

The dark blend was almost the same variation that had been sold by the shop on this street corner 19 years ago. Back when Jenny had teased him about liking the crap coffee served in the San Diego office and insisted he learn to appreciate something with a ' _little more flavor_.'

The long buried memories had been bustling to the fore of his mind since he landed, but the scent of the coffee brought everything to living color. Mornings in the room, afternoons exploring the streets and cafes, and evenings getting down to the work at hand.

Knowing that he'd be faced with those memories was one of the reasons he hadn't been sure about this trip. But he also knew, with the exception for how she had once used Tony, he had forgiven Jenny for most everything a long time ago; just as he knew that after a day back in Virginia he wasn't ready to drop back into his life yet. Tony's invitation had offered the perfect transition.

Once the initial uncertainty had subsided, it had been good spending time with the other man who had once been his partner. He had missed DiNozzo's humor and the way they used to parry off of one another.

Even before Tony had left NCIS something had changed in their relationship but, for some reason, perhaps it was because of distance, Tony becoming a father, or Gibbs own gratitude for life, they had been quick to settle back in to the banter that had been so common before…

Before Ari…before Kate died…before Pin Pin Pula…before Grenouille and Jean…before Jenny…before Rivkin and Saleem and Somalia, and Mexico, and EJ, and Eli and Bodnar, and Ziva in Israel and Bishop and Luke Harris…and Tali…

Tali. He had been caught off guard how healing it was to watch Tony with Tali.

For a man who had once dismissed children as unnecessary, it was clear that this little girl was the most important part of Tony's life.

When he was with his daughter it was as if Tony's personal tragedies faded away. When he smiled at her it wasn't the fake smile of a clown that Gibbs had grown accustomed to; it was an honest smile of peaceful happiness. And it was a smile his daughter mirrored.

Knowing that such peace was something Tali's mother and grandfather had struggled for throughout their lives was a salve over some of Gibbs' own pain and regrets; particularly in regard to the young girl's mother.

Deep down, Gibbs knew he had failed Ziva; had been unable to help her to find permanent comfort in her adopted homeland. He had succeeded in molding her into an investigator but not alleviating her internal struggles. He never doubted that rule number 12 was the right thing for her and Tony, but by keeping them apart she had been denied the family solace that she needed.

He found himself wondering how she had settled into motherhood when Tali was first born.

She was a vivacious girl who loved to share her wonder of the world and had wasted no time in warming up to him as family. The past couple evenings she directed him to sit next to Tony on the couch so she could nestle between them as they chatted and she watched some cartoon in Hebrew.

Despite the fact that none of it reflected what his life had looked like for the past 25 years, the past few days had felt normal and comfortable. Simple and easy.

He had watched Tali a few times when Tony had been called in to work at his consulting position and he had taken a day to himself, wandering the city and revising memories from a lifetime ago. Evenings had concluded with a shared dinner at the townhouse, games and stories; none of which had to do with Paraguay.

Tony understood enough to not ask too many questions and had stopped staring at the visible injuries within the first few hours. He had said nothing when Tali had been scared to tears by the shouts from a nightmare during the first night Gibbs spent in the guest bed in her room.

After settling her back to sleep, Tony had non-judgmentally placed a pillow and blanket on the living room couch and dug out his incomplete, mismatched tool kit. He left it on the table with a list of everything in the house that needed fixing, along with a bottle of bourbon.

Gibbs had gratefully taken the unspoken invitation to spend late nights replacing door knobs, fixing faucets and realigning windows until sleep was inescapable. He didn't crack the bourbon until the third night, and when he did it was simply because he missed the taste, not because he needed it.

He smiled to himself as he took a seat on a park bench; coming to Paris had been a good choice. He still didn't quite understand why he wasn't feeling how he had expected, how he had after past traumas. He didn't understand why he felt the need to not be alone, why, despite the nightmares and the lingering pains, he felt…happy.

He had expected to feel drawn to the solitude of his cabin where he could wrestle with his demons in the loneliness of the wilderness until he was allowed back to work where he could suppress the memories under late nights and heavy caseloads.

Instead, here he was, sipping on a coffee full of memories, enjoying the sun on his face and actually smiling as a young child chased a wayward dog, stopping to apologize to an elderly couple moving down the path.

"You sit there smiling to yourself and people are going to think you're crazy."

Gibbs turned part way to see DiNozzo coming up the path. He shrugged, "Who says I'm not?"

Tony snorted and smirked, "Certainly not me."

Gibbs watched as Tony sat down, instinctively scanning the park as he did.

"Where's Tali?"

"Play group." Tony shrugged, leaning back but still not looking at him.

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. He recognized this behavior; the stiff attempt at casual, the averted eyes, carefully starting conversation at a time they wouldn't be interrupted…

He sighed, "What do you want to know?"

Tony turned to him with wide eyes, "What? I'm just…I'm just…" His rebuke stuttered away as Gibbs continued to stare at him. He huffed, "I just thought that now everything is kind of settled that maybe…you might…want to talk…or something. You know, without the kid around."

"Talk?" Gibbs looked back at him steadily, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

Tony rolled his eyes, "Right, sorry..." He gestured to his head, "I must be nuts to think that one of the reasons you actually agreed to come visit instead of sitting alone in that house of yours was because after two months being held captive by insane South American jungle rebels that you might need a little help processing the whole thing and there aren't a ton of people you…you know…can talk to…."

He had started indignant but lost steam as he went along, leaving him taking a deep breath and looking sadly at Gibbs. "I know…" He muttered, "I don't know what I was thinking. I just…"

"Care?" Gibbs tilted his head, looking over the other man who had been his partner. Gone was the smart alec kid he had recruited off the streets of Baltimore. This was a man who sat next to him. A father, a professional. Someone who had taken the time and effort to look in the mirror, evaluate himself and make changes.

Unbidden, Gibbs snorted.

Tony rolled his eyes, "It's not _that_ farfetched that I actually give a damn."

"No…" Gibbs shook his head, clearing the misdirection, "I'm just realizing that maybe you're right."

"I am?" He blinked, straightening and furrowing his brow, "Are you joking with me?"

Ignoring the question, Gibbs crossed his arms and leaned back, "A few years back you started going to some group, like a support group?"

Tony's jaw opened and he stared silently for a minute before nodding slowly, "Yeah. After everything with Bodnar and Parsons and Ziva I just…" He shrugged, "Was looking for some grounding."

"Grounding…" Gibbs repeated, mulling the word over.

"Yeah." Tony shrugged, "Some connection to other people, some objective sense of who I was and the choices I was making." He tilted his head, "I know you were talking with that therapist Taft set you up with after Iraq. It's gotta be kind of the same."

"Eh…" Gibbs winced. Grace Confalone was persistent and he had grown to consider her a friend, but he hadn't acquiesced to her efforts for anything that approached a 'real' session. "Headshrinking isn't exactly my thing."

"Well that's stupid." Tony rebuked immediately with a shake of his head. "How many Marines have you helped get treatment after they went through something?"

"It's different." Gibbs shrugged, sipping on his coffee and looking away.

"Yeah. Sure. Mhrm." Tony huffed again, "You remain the most stubborn person I've ever met."

"Thanks." He grinned, choosing to focus on how much he enjoyed the ability to nettle the other man instead of listening to what he was trying to say.

Tony leveled a glare at him, and Gibbs sighed, "Look, I'm not about to say the last two months were easy. They weren't."

He waited until DiNozzo visibly softened, "But outside of a few days, there really isn't much to talk about. It was a lot of sitting around in a damp cell, killing time."

Tony leaned back on the bench, "I know you well enough to know that sitting around with nothing proactive to do for days on end was probably just as difficult as whatever they did to give you that cut under your eye."

Unconsciously, Gibbs flinched his bad eye.

In most scenarios, Tony would have been right; having a problem and not being able to do anything about it was tantamount to torture for him…but there was a difference between something being _close_ to torture and _actual_ torture.

He didn't want to think too hard about why he had crossed the street earlier that morning when a mechanic had pulled out some jumper cables to assist a young man with a disabled car. He didn't want to think about why he was sitting here, at this bench, instead of the one on the other side of the park, closer to the ball field where some kids were playing an informal game of baseball with shiny aluminum bats.

Tony picked up on the shift in mood and concern once again crossed his face. He shifted before pulling on what Gibbs recognized as a false smile. "Well, at least if you had to be stuck in a cell with one other person it was McGee."

Distracted from the path his thoughts had been heading down, Gibbs looked up, "What?"

Tony shrugged, "Just figured if you had your choice of companions that it would be him."

"You think I would choose to drag anyone into that hell with me? Especially the recently married, expectant father?!" He knew his snapping response was incongruous with the tone of Tony's statement, but he couldn't help it. His previous thoughts had suddenly dragged up memories that put him on edge and he hated knowing what Tim had gone through.

Tony straightened and held up his hands, "No…no…no…" He stuttered, "I just meant you always liked pairing up with McGee when we were all working together."

Gibbs paused, the undercurrent of sibling rivalry causing him to huff and roll his eyes as he leaned back, "Seriously. The two of you..."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tony frowned.

He sipped at his coffee, frowning at the empty cup. "I paired with McGee because he was the least experienced."

Tony blinked, "Oh."

"Yeah." Gibbs nodded, "You and Kate or Ziva could have one another's back. McGee needed more training."

"I guess…that makes sense." Tony frowned, brow furrowed as he thought back, "You used to buy him coffee."

"And I used to buy you pizza and let you drink my beer." Gibbs volleyed in exasperation, "I like to think I recognize when someone puts in extra time and effort."

Tony he opened his mouth before thinking better of it and clamping it closed.

Gibbs shrugged a shoulder and lifted an eyebrow, "Of course, it didn't hurt that the first few years McGee was so nervous he kept his trap shut as opposed to the constant stream of babble from some other agents..."

"Har har." Tony shook his head. He leaned forward, eyes unfocused as he dug through memories, "You _did_ used to scare the crap out of Probie..." He looked over his shoulder to Gibbs, "Remember that first case? When he was still in Norfolk?" A wide grin split his face, "Tim was so horrified at that body." He looked away, grin fading and jaw tensing, "He was crazy innocent for a long time, wasn't he?"

Gibbs swallowed but stayed silent.

When Tony looked back at him again his hazel eye were piercing, "How is he? Really?"

A cold feeling tightened in Gibbs' chest and he shook his head, "It wasn't easy for him."

Tony clasped his hands between his knees. "I hate I wasn't there for you guys."

Gibbs shrugged, leaning back, squeezing the empty cup. "You've been there for your daughter, that's what's important."

"You know…" Tony leaned back, matching him, "Tim and I have been video chatting over the past year. It's pretty easy, I could teach you how so when you go home you can keep in touch with Tali."

Gibbs raised a defensive eyebrow, "I can video chat."

"From _MTAC._ " Tony rebuked, "But do you know how from home?"

He smiled as Gibbs remained silent, "Thought so. It's easy. I'll show you. We can call McGee."

Gibbs snuffed. He knew exactly what Tony was trying to do, and he appreciated it. Tim hadn't called the cell and Gibbs was tensely uncertain about touching base.

He nodded at Tony, "Sounds like a plan to me."


	20. Chapter 20 - McGee

_A/N Back! Sorry for the delay - I just completed a solo, 5-state move and have been mentally and physically exhausted! I'm mostly settled into to the new place and should be back to daily updates. Thanks again for all the support._

 _This chapter plays a little bit with time, hope it's not confusing! :-)_

* * *

"I think you know what I'm going to tell you."

Tim clenched the edge of the chair as the Doctor looked at him over the edge of his clipboard.

He nodded stiffly, "Eat healthy foods with lots of protein?"

Doctor Nuali smiled, "Right on the button. How has your activity level been since you've come home? I assume you've been resting?"

"Yeah, yeah." Tim nodded, "Lots of rest, a few walks."

"Good." Nuali made a notation, "Fresh air is good for you." He scanned over a few more things, "You've been home about a week now so I'd say you can probably start adding in some of your regular exercise routine. Don't push yourself, it will take a while to work up to the strength you're used to and you don't want to be back in here with a shoulder or knee injury from trying to do too much too fast."

"Right, of course." He shifted in his seat, recalling his attempt to work out the other day.

After his family went home and having taken most of the previous week off, Delilah went back to work on Monday which left Tim alone to figure out what to do with himself. Feeling unsettled in the apartment and compelled to attempt for normalcy, he had donned his running gear and set out for a jog.

He had barely run a mile before he was feeling winded and too tired to keep going. He had opted into a neighborhood café for a break. The quick break soon turned into hours of sitting with his back to the wall, sipping on drinks and watching the people filter in and out until it was time to meet Delilah back at home.

She had been so happy to see him coming around the corner in his running gear that he had repeated the routine the next two days; reading the paper and watching the world from the secluded corner of Dupont Coffee and then coming home with stories of the things he supposedly had done with his time.

As far as Delilah knew, he was back up to jogging 10k, meeting old friends for coffee, doing some writing, browsing the aisles of his favorite computer store and trying to fix the strange sound from under the hood of his car. He didn't want to lie to her but she had been through so much and if the thought of him keeping busy meant she was happy then he would put up a front until reality matched the stories he told.

"I have to tell you Tim," Dr. Nuali continued, "I was happy to see your name on the appointment calendar today. Agent Gibbs came in last week and I had been expecting you. This baseline is important for determining when you'll be cleared for full duty at work."

Without thinking, he snorted; of course Gibbs would have come in before he up and left for Paris.

He didn't begrudge the other man for doing something productive with his time off, but it had been weird thinking of him and Tony just socializing together in Paris. It was even weirder when they had video called yesterday. Tony, Gibbs and Tali, all smiles and jokes on Tony's rooftop patio. They were like some happy family, and completely incongruent with the Gibbs Tim had come to know over the two months in Paraguay.

At one point Tali had announced she needed a potty break and Tony had scooped her up and run off screen without preamble. Gibbs had watched them leave with a smile before turning back to Tim, "Soon enough, you'll be going through the potty training thing."

"I got that taken care of about 3 and a half decades ago, Boss." The joke wasn't that good but Gibbs had chuckled anyway and Tim had to contain the impulse to ask him how he could be so carefree already; didn't he feel haunted by the memories of that ship? Didn't he find it impossible to sleep? And when he did, didn't he have nightmares too? How come he was okay already when Tim was spinning his wheels?

Some of his consternation must have shown because Gibbs quickly sobered, tilting his head, "How you doing, McGee?"

For an instant he was tempted to give Gibbs the same story he had been giving Delilah, he had spent the last 14 years not wanting to disappoint the man and even Paraguay couldn't change that.

But he also knew that over those 14 years he had never been able to lie to Gibbs either. He shrugged, settling on a half truth, "Still having some difficulty sleeping but working on it."

Then, to his surprise, Gibbs nodded, "Yeah, same."

Thinking back, Tim realized he shouldn't have been surprised; for as long as he'd known him, Gibbs never seemed to sleep. He had experienced it first hand a few years prior when Gibbs broke his collar bone pushing Tim out of the way of a car and Tim had tried to make up for it by assisting him for a week. He had barely been able to keep up, the man slept so little. That realization negated any short lived comfort he took from knowing Gibbs also wasn't sleeping.

The doctor tilted his head at the sound of Tim's quick, derisive snort, "I'm sorry, I was just assuming you'd be wanting to go back to work."

"Oh, no, I was just thinking that it isn't a surprise that Gibbs was that proactive." Tim brushed off, even as his stomach did a little somersault. He and Delilah had only touched on the topic of work a few days previous.

He had come home from a day at the café with stories of a full and productive day and she had tilted her head, "I'm happy you've been so busy, babe. I wasn't sure how you were going to handle all this time on your own without work."

He didn't bother explaining to her that time has a different meaning when, for two months he needed to be satisfied doing nothing but waiting for food scraps to be thrown at his feet. Instead he shrugged, "I've always been good at finding ways to occupy myself."

She smiled and leaned her chin on her palm, "So what's the plan then?"

"Plan?" He scrunched up his face as he sat on the couch to remove his shoes, "What plan?"

She bit her lip and rolled just an inch closer, "The 'what comes next' plan." Her hands fiddled with the grip on her chair and Tim knew she was working through what she wanted to say before speaking it out loud, "Do you want to go back to work?"

He blinked, his gut lurching. "Of course I want to go back to work." Not returning to NCIS, to the team, to the work that enabled him to serve those who served his country…it wasn't even a consideration.

"Okay…" Delilah drawled out.

He frowned, "You think I should go back now?"

"No, Tim." She shook her head and rolled close enough to put a hand on his forearm, "I don't think anything outside of wanting to have an idea as to what the future looks like. I wasn't sure if going back to being an agent was even something you wanted."

"It's who I am." He retorted automatically.

"Okay." She nodded, stroking his arm, "Then at some point you should probably figure out what needs to be done to get cleared for active duty." She met his eyes, "I'm not saying today or tomorrow. Everything should be completely on your own timeline. But it's something to think about."

Even as the thought of returning to a regular work schedule made him queasy, the next morning he had scheduled the first of what would be at least two physicals.

The doctor nodded, flipping the clipboard closed, "A few bumps in some of these numbers and a stress test is all you'll need to get the seal of approval from me. Load up on the broccoli and avocado chicken, keep getting some fresh air and schedule another appointment in a week or two, or whenever you feel like you're in a good spot and we'll see if we can't get you approved."

"Thanks." Tim nodded, finishing buttoning up his shirt.

"You should also stop across the way." Nuali gestured to the door, "A psych evaluation is part of the reinstatement process too." He waited a beat, "And honestly, even if it weren't, given what you've been through, talking with a professional could be just as an important part of your health as your food and exercise."

"I gotchya, Doc." Tim nodded. He knew very well about the psych evals; he'd been through them before – after resucing Ziva from Saleem and again after Harper Dearing had blown up NCIS. Dr. Wolfe had declared him almost disturbingly stable. A psych eval was just another hoop he had to jump through but he didn't exactly feel like dealing with it at the moment.

Nuali smiled, "I look forward to seeing you again soon Timothy."

"Thanks." Without a look back, Tim ducked out the door and hustled to the elevator, headed to the lobby. He looked at the button below the lobby, the one marked 'G' and grimaced. It was the button for the parking garage level.

Tim hadn't used the garage; instead opting for the large lot a short walk from the medical facility. He had approached the parking structure initially, but the dark, low overhang and a visible crack in some of the concrete had him pulling a u-turn. It wasn't any darker than every other parking garage, and the crack was probably just superficial but the last thing he needed was for the ceiling to come crashing down on his head or to not see some carjacker lurking in the shadows.

Of course, he frowned as he crossed the street, this alternative meant he was more likely to get hit by a speeding car as he walked alongside the parkway.

He clenched his teeth and exhaled. Wouldn't that be great, make it this far just to be killed in a boring old car accident. Or maybe not even killed, just seriously injured, leaving Delilah to have to care for him as well as go through her pregnancy.

Or what if he had an accident that caused permanent damage? If anything, Delilah had shown him exactly how capable someone in a wheel chair could be but that didn't mean it wouldn't be incredibly difficult if they were both paralyzed while trying to raise a child.

A shiver went down his spine and he exhaled. He objectively _knew_ there was no more risk in his life than there ever had been before but he couldn't seem to shake these thoughts plaguing him most of the day and through the nights.

He grimaced; he needed to get his brain in order before he made any appointment to see a shrink.


	21. Chapter 21 - Gibbs

_He couldn't see. He tried to take a breath, but water filled his mouth in place of air. McGee was there but his voice was fading…where were they taking him? His muscles burned as he pulled against the ropes…_

"TIMAGH!" He sat up, coughing against the imagined water in his lungs.

Blinking away the dream, Gibbs took in a series of deep breaths, forcing his pulse under control before he glanced at the clock over the mantle; 6am. 4 and a half hours of solid sleep. With a final breath, he swung his legs off the couch, ignoring the tightness in his gut and the shaking in his hands as he moved to the kitchen to start the coffee.

Nightmares weren't anything new and he was happy with the hours of uninterrupted sleep. 4 and a half was nearly 5 which wasn't far off from what he had been averaging before Paraguay. 5 hours was good. He was heading back home today and if nothing else, being able to sleep for almost 5 hours without medication was indicative of how worthwhile this Paris detour had been.

Most nights he had woken every couple of hours, but nearly five hours straight felt like a victory and he moved with a bounce in his step as the remnants of the nightmare faded and he collected the ingredients for breakfast.

"Are you _baking_?" A bleary-eyed Tony entered the kitchen, still in his flannel pants and t-shirt, hair standing impressively on end.

"Pancakes." Gibbs answered, not looking up from the bowl where he was pouring the milk.

Tony peered over his shoulder, made a noise and moved to the coffee. "Mhrm….You sure you don't want to stick around? I am really digging this whole coffee-is-ready-before-I-get-up thing."

Gibbs smiled to himself, whisking the batter. They hadn't discussed it, but he knew that Tony was genuine in his implied invitation to stay. "It's time." He nodded, "Need to get back to reality at some point."

He heard Tony place the mug on the table, "Do you really?"

Gibbs didn't look up, "What?"

There was a long inhale behind him as the former agent formulated his words, "It's probably too early for this but I gotta ask before my minion wakes up…" He moved, appearing in Gibbs periphery, "What are you _doing_? What, exactly, do you _need_ to get back to? NCIS? At some point isn't it enough? You've been blown up, shot, indicted, seen friends killed, captured, tortured…" Tony's voice tightened, "How much more of yourself do you feel like you need to give?"

Slowly exhaling, Gibbs put down the bowl and turned around.

Seeing he had his full attention, Tony stepped back, gesturing around him, "I'm not saying you should stay here, but I am saying maybe really think about if you actually _need_ to go back. It doesn't take someone who's known you as long as I have to tell that this has been good for you; that you've been happy. You don't _need_ to go anywhere or do anything…you could stick around and keep spoiling my daughter."

Gibbs winced and Tony pointed, " _Yeah_ , I _saw_ the WonderPets magic palace in her room. I managed to keep Senior from buying it for her last time he was here, I didn't think I needed worry about _you_."

"Don't check behind the rocking chair." Gibbs admitted with a smirk. Tali had begged for the beginner skates they saw in the store and he had hardly put up a fight before relenting. They, along with the matching purple helmet and wrist guards had been carefully tucked away before 'Abba' had come home yesterday.

Tony rolled his eyes but his mouth was smiling, "Look, it's never been a secret that you like kids, and in this city a little girl can never have too many over protective adults to love her. And maybe that's something you should consider doing."

"Play Grandfather to your kid?" Gibbs tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.

"It wouldn't be 'playing' anything." Tony muttered.

Gibbs swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and Tony lifted a shoulder and averted his eyes.

"Look, I'm just saying maybe you should consider your options." Tony fiddled with the sugar packets on the counter, "Travel. Go to other countries to enjoy the sights and the cultures and the food. Or finish your boat and go sailing. Or set up shop somewhere and be a craftsman." He looked at the open window over the sink, "Thanks for all the repairs by the way, was pretty certain that window would never open."

"DiNozzo…" Gibbs sighed.

"What?" Tony cut him off, "I thought Tim was pulling my chain when he told me you once admitted to a witness that when you were a kid, you wanted to be a painter; but I saw you looking at that gallery in the market on Wednesday. It's not too late to buy some paints and canvas, go to school or just sit at that cabin and start practicing."

He sighed and dropped his shoulders, looking Gibbs in the eyes, "I'm just saying, that after all this time, after everything you've been through, maybe it's okay to spend your life doing something for yourself, that _you_ enjoy."

Gibbs straightened his head and looked over the man in front of him. There were pockets of gray in his stubble and the dark rimmed glasses were new, but the set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes was as familiar as always.

He smiled and watched Tony's brow pucker and eyes flick as he tried to decipher the reaction. He sighed, "Tony…" He turned back to the skillet, more comfortable talking while his hands were occupied. He flicked the heat on and sighed, not sure what to say.

"I get it it…" The sound of a chair moving was followed by a low grunt from Tony as he sat back down, "Going to work _is_ doing something you enjoy. Purpose and challenge and all that Marine nonsense."

Gibbs smirked and carefully shaped a pancake into the rough outline of a sports car and another into Mickey Mouse, "Something like that."

Tony sighed, "You sure it's not just because you feel you need to? To prove something or to fulfill some kind of expectation? That there isn't something different you'd like to try while you still can?"

For the first time in a couple days, Gibbs glanced at his malformed knuckle. If he were honest, some of the things Tony had mentioned had their appeal and he knew that whenever he went to his grave it would be with regrets of things not done. But it also wasn't so simple.

He flipped the pancakes, careful not to detach Mickey's ears from his head, recalling when making cartoon pancakes had once been a weekly exercise and when a red headed girl had cried at an unfortunately disfigured Mickey.

He exhaled. Work was more than enjoying the job or even the people who had become his family. Protecting the families of service members and who weren't home to do so themselves was something he had to do for as long as he was able. He flipped the pancakes onto a plate and turned around to look at the other man. "I've told you my reason."

DiNozzo's eyes tightened and he sighed, "Shannon and Kelly."

Gibbs didn't say anything, just slipped the sportscar pancake onto the plate.

Tony smirked at the goofy breakfast but didn't pick up a fork. He kept his eyes down, "Even after all this time?"

"It changes." Gibbs returned to his coffee, "But never goes away." He locked eyes with Tony, watching the muscles in his face twitch.

Before the younger man could formulate a reply, a crashing sound came from the stairs followed by the patter of small feet.

"Be'seder!" Tali shouted and the heavy atmosphere in the kitchen dissipated as Gibbs and Tony looked at one another with raised eyebrows.

When the toddler finally appeared in the entrance to the kitchen it was with her overstuffed Wonder Woman suitcase. "Okay. On va à l'aéroport."

Gibbs ducked a smirk behind his coffee, watching Tony blink and process his daughter's assumption.

"Tali…" He sighed, "We are just going to drop Gibbs off at the airport. You know how we bring Grandpa so he can go home?"

She stared at him studiously, her dark eyes piercing. "We go too."

"No." Tony turned in his chair to fully face her. "He needs to go home and we need to stay. You have play group and Abba has work."

Her eyes grew wide and her cherubic face scrunched tight, "No, no, no, no! On y va!" She backed away from her father, stamping her feet and crossing her arms.

Tony huffed, and looked over his shoulder, "Remember how angry Ziva was when you left to go after Dearing?"

Gibbs grinned at the memory of the young woman snapping angrily as he prepared to take down the terrorist on his own. He nodded, "I do see the resemblance."

With a sigh Tony squatted to his daughter's height, "Bella…come here."

With a pout the three-year-old crossed the room and sulked against her father's shoulder, "I do not want Gib to go."

Carefully, Gibbs also lowered himself to eyelevel, "I have to, Tali. If I don't leave, then you can never come visit me."

The toddler's forehead scrunched tightly as she tried to puzzle through his logic, "I can visit?"

"You better." He grinned, landing a light touch to her cheek.

Her frown faded, and she grinned, using both hands to pull Tony's ear to her mouth, "J'allez chez Gib in America."

"Someday." He nodded earnestly. "I promise."

She squealed in delight and landed a wet kiss onto her father's ear before pulling away to charge at Gibbs.

Prepared for the onslaught, he adjusted himself to catch her hug and simultaneously lift her up and into her booster chair. "Now that's settled, how about some breakfast?"

"Mickey!" She clapped happily at the dish placed in front of her.

"Great." Tony bemoaned, "Something else I need to learn how to do…"

* * *

Gibbs waved as Tali blew him kisses from the other side of the airport security. He raised his chin and made eye contact with DiNozzo, exchanging a silent goodbye before turning for his gate.

The trip was as good as it was unexpected. And Tony was right to challenge him to think through his next steps...but he was right too, it was time to go home. Tony was alright, he had his daughter and his work and the distance from his old life was good for him. He would always be family, but he wasn't Gibbs' team anymore.

And his team was who he needed. People he could rely on but also made him feel needed, who looked to him for answers and guidance. People he could help and work with. Nick and Ellie and Leon and Abbey and Ducky and Palmer, even Fornell.

And McGee.

He had spoken to Tim just once in the past 10 days; The other man seemed well when they had rung him up on a video chat; he was at a coffee shop and wearing what looked like running gear. But despite the evidence that he was working out and being social, something seemed off, false even, and Gibbs' gut had clenched. That was the evening he had booked his flight home.

Finally settling into his house would be good.

Getting back to the office would be comforting.

Working alongside the team would be satisfying.

But above all, what he _needed_ to be doing was being available for the man who had been at his side during his darkest days.

He looked out the window, waiting for his plane home.


	22. Chapter 22 - McGee

"So what adventures do you have today?" Delilah asked, wheeling herself around the kitchen, gathering her lunch for the day and pouring a coffee to go.

"Uh…" Tim hid behind the newspaper. He hated misleading his wife, but she needed to be able to go to work without worrying about her husband not being able to do something as simple as occupy himself. "Dr. Nuali cleared me for regular workouts so I thought I'd go to the gym and then do a run for time, you know, really push myself."

"That's great, Tim." He heard her struggle with the dishwasher, "Any chance you could also call someone about fixing this? Every day it's getting worse."

He looked over the paper and grimaced. She had brought up the need to bring in an appliance repairman before but the idea of letting a stranger into their home just didn't sit right. "You know," He redirected, "I think that's the original one from when Tony first did the kitchen. Maybe we should look at buying a new one before we go through the expense and hassle of getting it repaired."

"Maybe…" She sighed, finally getting the machine door to shut properly, "I just hate to be spending much money with the baby on the way."

"I know, but if it will be cheaper in the long run…" He put down the paper and stood, leaning against the wall. "We can at least check things out. Maybe go to Best Buy this weekend?"

"Ohh, that sounds like a date, Mr. McGee…" She smiled slyly at him.

He cleared his throat. After an instinct driven intimate reunion his first day home, romance had taken a backseat, first his self-consciousness at his injuries and then exhaustion from poor sleep and too much noise in his own head.

He knew the more he projected a return to normalcy, the more his wife would desire for all aspects of their relationship to return and certainly her hormones weren't slowing her down. He wasn't actively avoiding her, but he hadn't be encouraging anything either and he knew eventually he'd need to do something.

He put on a smile which was stronger than he felt, "Maybe it _is_ a date Mrs. McGee." He swallowed. Making plans for Saturday would give him a few days to wrap his head around being able to relax enough to be intimate with his wife.

She shook her head, "You know, _most_ woman would prefer a nice dinner and wine."

"Well you're not most woman and you can't have wine." He leaned in to kiss her forehead, "But we can make a day of it; lunch before shopping or a nice dinner after."

His subversion was worth it for the beaming smile she gave him as she grabbed his forearm and angled to plant a kiss on his lips before he could straighten.

"How do I deserve you…." He muttered out loud before he was able to catch himself.

The carefree flirtation dimmed in Delilah's eyes and her grasp tightened, "Don't say that."

He blinked, "What?"

"Don't question if you deserve me or us or this…" She shook her head and placed both of her hands on his face, "I love you and you love me and this is real and that is all that matters; okay?"

"Okay." He answered automatically, certain there was no other acceptable answer in the moment. He reached up, covering her hands with his, "Really. I get it."

Her eyes crossed his face for a long tense moment before she finally nodded and pulled back. He stood watching her, certain his confusion over her sudden intensity showed on his face.

She sighed, looking aside as she packed her computer bag, "You have nightmares, Tim."

He shifted but didn't say anything.

She stopped what she was doing to look up at him, "Not that it's not unexpected and I'm sure totally normal but sometimes you talk during them. Usually I can't understand much of it but enough for me to know it's bad and enough to know that more than once it's been something to do with me."

Tim froze.

She was right.

Most nights the dreams were just a return to the rusted-out ship but some nights it was Delilah who was being waterboarded instead of Gibbs and he was powerless to do anything, just like in his memories. Other times they were at home and suddenly Rafael would appear to beat Delilah with his baseball bat or he would just hear her screaming and be unable to find her.

He didn't think she knew.

She wheeled over, reaching for his hand, "I'm so happy to have you home Babe, but I know some of this hasn't been as easy as you've let on. I wish you'd find a way to let me in."

"You already do more than enough." He turned his hand over in hers, squeezing her fingers and trying to swallow the panic in his throat, "You're here every morning and every night and you're growing our child and I love you." He kissed her hand, "They're just dreams, and I know that."

" _Do_ you?" She questioned, boring into his eyes.

He stilled for a second before every ounce of his willpower was able to pull up a smile, "Yeah. I do." He kissed her head and backed away, "It's not like this is the first traumatic thing to happen in my life." He shrugged, reaching to grab a protein bar from the cabinet, leaning against the counter casually, "It's been barely two weeks. The dreams will go away."

She took a breath in through her nose but didn't look away.

He smiled at her, "Really, I'm fine and getting better." He made a show of looking at the clock, "But you're about to be late for work."

"Oh!" She fluttered her hands and grabbed her bag, wheeling to the door. She hesitated, "I _do_ love you."

"Love you too." He waved, waiting for her to leave, shutting the door behind her before he coughed up the protein bar from his mouth. His throat was too tight to swallow.

Breathing out, he rolled his neck. Suddenly feeling so tight that even minor exercise would probably be a bad plan and making him reconsider his plan to attempt a real run today.

He sighed, at least he could take a stroll to the coffee shop. Maybe some time watching the world pass by from his corner would be relaxing enough that he could jog home.

He was lacing up his sneakers when the house phone rang. It took him a while to recognize the number as the one Gibbs had given him before he left for Paris.

Uncertain what to expect, he picked up the phone on the third ring, "McGee."

" _Hey Tim_." Gibbs voice was more sedate than it had been on the video call a few days ago, but still warmer than Tim could recall him being, even before Paraguay.

"Boss." He smiled despite himself, "Still in France?"

" _Uh, no. No, got back yesterday. Home now_."

"Oh." Tim nodded. If he was honest he hadn't expected the trip to last as long as it did, given Gibbs' and Tony's propensity to drive one another crazy. "Tony kick you out or did you decide you'd had enough?" He tried smirking.

" _It was time_." The level answer carried no hint of amusement or animosity. _"How've you been?_ "

Tim winced. He hated the question. He hated that his instinct was to lie but he didn't want to cause anyone the worry of knowing he felt like he was spinning his tires; especially not Gibbs who clearly had a handle of things.

"You know how it is…" He tried obscurely, "Bout the same; night sucks but other than that...Delilah, home, food…it's great." He figured it was truthful enough that perhaps his boss wouldn't pick up on his uncertainty.

" _Mhrm._ "

Damnit. Of course he couldn't fool Gibbs. The question was would he call him on it.

" _You got plans for the day?"_

Okay, so seemed like he was letting Tim off the hook. "Uh, yeah, I was just about to go for a run and hit the gym. Maybe catch up with a friend from high school this afternoon." He hedged, suddenly wary of seeing the other man. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up in front of him and Gibbs would eventually tear down the wall Tim had been carefully building. "Why?"

The sound of a familiar truck starting up echoed through the other end of the line, _"Nothing big. I was just going to the range to get my firearms qual out of the way and then meeting Vance for lunch to talk about work. Thought you might be interested."_

"Work?" He blinked, "Did you already get cleared?"

" _Nah. Hoping for some desk duty for now. Probably another week at least."_

" _Hoping_ for desk duty?" Tim echoed, frowning, "You hate desk duty."

" _Better than nothing."_ He could hear the smirk in his boss' voice, _"I'll take what I can get."_

"Yeah, I get it." He _did_ understand. They had talked enough over the two months together that Tim had a newfound understanding and appreciation for what the job meant to his boss. The Navy Yard was really more of Gibbs' home than his house and the ability to find justice for service members during their lowest moments filled him with more satisfaction than anything he could build in his basement.

But Tim didn't have that connection. He loved being an agent and he loved working with his team and he loved the opportunity to serve those who were serving his country, but Tim enjoyed his personal time.

He appreciated that he and Delilah made conscious efforts to build a life outside of the office. Work gave him purpose and filled him with pride but if it were taken away from him it wouldn't be the end of his identity. He simply didn't have the visceral need to work that he knew Gibbs did.

" _You got a plan yet?"_

"I'm still working on eating my way through Delilah's recipe book." He offered light heartedly.

" _Definitely not a bad plan at all."_ Gibbs laughed. Tim had to pull the phone from his ear and stare at it, Gibbs _laughed_. In the 14 years he had known him he couldn't recall the last time Gibbs laughed for real.

"Uh…yeah." He shook himself back into his thought process, "So just following Doc's orders to get back where I need to be. Maybe I'll stop in the office or give the director a call on Monday."

" _No rush, but that is good to hear."_

Tim blew an internal sigh of gratitude at the patient encouragement; the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint Gibbs. True, the man had more life experience but neither had ever been through anything like Paraguay and Gibbs certainly had a worse time of it. If he was managing to move forward with apparent ease, then Tim didn't want to make it seem he was coming up short.

" _Mind if I tell Vance what you're thinking? I know he's curious."_

Tim shuffled, telling Vance meant he had to actually follow through with his off handed comment about checking in on Monday. "Oh, yeah, sure. Absolutely."

" _Good. Okay well, I'll be at the range until 1200 and then at the diner about 1300 if your plans change."_

"Thanks." Tim tried to inject as much buoyancy into his voice as possible, "I doubt I'll show up but definitely will keep it in mind if anything changes."

" _Alright, well. I'm around again, so you can call or swing by."_

"Same." Tim winced as soon as the awkward reply was out of his mouth, but Gibbs had already hung up.

He stood in the kitchen, looking at the phone for a long moment before hanging it up.

Grabbing his windbreaker, he left the apartment and stood on the sidewalk. Giving his shoulders a roll and his calves a stretch, he sighed and held out an arm for a passing taxi.

"DuPont Coffee House, please."

He'd go on a real run tomorrow.


	23. Chapter 23 - Gibbs

There was a tightness in his stomach as he pulled through the front gate and parked in front of the familiar brick building.

He swallowed, if he had any hope of getting back to full duty he couldn't let his anticipation get the best of him. Leon had been clear, he was sticking his neck out approving the limited duty, it was not the act of the director, but the act of an understanding friend.

Even with the director's approval, Gibbs was limited to 5 hours a day, three days a week, and was not to come in prior to 10 or be in the building past 4. He couldn't have any input on ongoing cases and, just in case, Vance had ordered him to work out of the conference room across from the director's office, knowing that being at his desk in the bullpen would make it too easy to be pulled in to case discussions.

Vance had visibly braced himself for Gibbs' to chafe at the restrictions, but he was so grateful to have something to do that he had passively agreed to each requirement.

He had tried sleeping in his bed the previous night but tossed and turned until 5am when he gave up and went to the basement to work on the boat and watch the clock for when he could finally get back to work.

He checked the dash; 9:58.

Close enough.

Locking the truck, he strolled to the front door, trying not to reveal his excitement.

The security guards stared in surprise as he approached the check point and Henry, the supervisor, came around from his station, taking the ID scanner from one of the younger guards.

"I'd like to do the honor." He smiled, scanning the ID. "It's good to have you back."

With a nod, Gibbs swallowed the joy he felt at hearing the scan bing and turn green, "Good to be back, Henry."

He moved on to the elevator, surreptitiously looking at his reflection in polished metal. His eye was significantly better but the large cut was still visible among the raised skin atop his cheek bone. He didn't care so much about the appearance as he did about drawing unnecessary attention.

"Oh…"

He turned at the unexpected voice next to him. "Torres." He paused, processing the younger man's presence and then smiled broadly, "Little late for work?"

"Uh, what?" Nick blinked, "No…I uh…I was…at the…" He gestured over his shoulder, "I already…"

Gibbs rolled his eyes, "Relax."

"Uh. Yeah, okay." Nick stared back at him, "Gibbs….You're back?"

"Not really." Gibbs shrugged, stepping in as the elevator opened, "Some light duty for the director."

"Oh." Nick nodded, hitting the button for the bullpen. "Well it's good, really good to see you." He shuffled, "I mean, we weren't sure what your plans were, and Abbey said you had gone to France and I didn't know what to make of that but, whatever, it's just good to have you back in the building."

"Yeahup." Gibbs nodded, rolling his shoulders.

Torres shifted and turned to face him, but turned away to look straight ahead again.

Looking at him sideways, Gibbs sighed internally, he knew this was coming, "Whatddya got, Nick?"

Nick looked back up, mouth hanging open for a beat before he began to shake his head, "I know we need to talk. I should have stayed back. No one should have had to stay behind, and I shouldn't have let Tim be the one to get off the Helo…I'm…"

"Don't." He cut him off.

Torres blinked, "What?"

"Don't apologize." Gibbs expanded, turning to meet Torres' eyes, "What happened, happened. I made my choices, Tim made his. You were following orders. Someone needed to take care of those kids and the petty officer. Nothing to apologize for."

"But…"

"No." Gibbs looked him in the eye, "You did nothing wrong and I'm looking forward to going back into the field with you."

"Yeah?" The younger man's eyes were so wide with disbelief that there was no sign of the maverick that Gibbs knew him to be. It made him feel good to be able to remove the weight of the guilt that Torres must have been tormented by over the past weeks.

"Yeah."

He watched as Torres exhaled, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes looking down. A part of Gibbs felt bad that he hadn't more proactively reached out since getting back. "Abbey said you've been busy not only working cases but helping out Delilah and supporting the Director on the hill."

"Yeah. Well, felt like it was the least I should be doing, y'know?" Torres shrugged.

"Good to have you on the team, Torres." Gibbs watched as the young man took in the understated praise, shoulders straightening.

"Well, uh…" The doors opened to the bullpen and Torres stepped out, "Looking forward having you back out here with us...Boss."

"Soon." Gibbs promised with a nod as the doors slid closed, bringing him up to the next floor.

Crossing into the Director's office he didn't bother to knock, smiling as he entered, approaching the desk and waiting for Vance to finish his phone call.

"It was so peaceful having that door respected for 2 and a half months." Leon chided as he hung up the phone.

"Just eager to get to work." Gibbs shrugged, not at all chuffed.

"Mhrm." Vance stood, moving to the conference table, "Let me help with that." He put his hand on a stack of folders, "About 14 months ago FLETC instituted a new advanced firearms course. Anecdotes from supervisors seem to indicate that the newest batch of agents have subpar performance with their weapons. I need you to figure out if it's because of this new program or if it's these individuals. And, if the training is subpar, tell them how to fix it."

Gibbs blinked, "Really?"

"Yes, really." Leon nodded, "Something wrong?"

"No…no…" Gibbs shook of his head, "I was just expecting something…more…"

"Boring? Paperwork focused?" Vance replied, chuckling as Gibbs nodded. "I remember what the paperwork looked like when I came back from medical leave. I'm not about to do that to either of us."

With a smirk, Gibbs stepped up to the stack of files. Flipping open the first one he found a personnel file on a 24 year old agent in Florida. Beneath the top sheet was his record from the training program, his firearm test results and an email from his supervisor complaining that they almost had a fatality because the new agent was slow on the draw.

Vance watched from behind his shoulder, "These are the files of every agent who has gone through the new training. If you need to head to FLETC and observe the course in action they're running the class again this week and know we might be sending someone over."

He looked up at that comment. "Thought I wasn't allowed in the field."

"This isn't the field. I'm not sending you anywhere we aren't sending trainees and you're still to adhere to our time agreement." Vance crossed his arms and stared unrelentingly back.

Gibbs held up a hand, fighting to contain a smile, "Fine with me."

Vance snorted. He stepped back, leaning against the front of his desk, crossing his ankles and watching as Gibbs flicked through the stack of files. "Have you spoken with McGee?"

"Nothing in depth." Gibbs shook his head, not looking up, "I called him after we talked, let him know what we agreed upon."

Picking up his coffee, Vance tilted his head, "He didn't seem interested in pursuing some similar arrangement? With his computer skills I can put him to work much easier than it is finding ways to keep you out of trouble."

Gibbs looked up, smirking at the familiar refrain, "If it's so hard, you could just let me get back to my team."

"Not without a Doctor's note and you know it." Vance looked knowingly over the brim of his mug, sipping on the liquid inside.

Shrugging at the expected reply, Gibbs waited. His fingers itched to get to work on the project but he felt there was still more to come from the other man.

"McGee?" Vance refocused.

Gibbs sighed. He didn't know what to think about Tim.

The one thing he understood was needing space and he didn't want to do anything to encroach upon that for Tim, but there was something not quite right each time they had spoken. Not to mention they hadn't actually seen one another since dropping Tim off the day they landed from Cuba.

He knew that was partially his fault, for going to Paris, but he had thought Tim might call at least once while he was gone or want to get together when he got back. But each call had been strained and Tim had found a reason to decline each invitation Gibbs had extended. He couldn't help the sense that Tim was keeping something from him.

He also considered the possibility that Tim was simply trying to reestablish boundaries, return to the relationship they had before Paraguay. The thought gave Gibbs pause, he wasn't sure he wanted to return to the familiar but hierarchal relationship. They had shared something as peers and Gibbs didn't want to dismiss that.

He looked to Vance who had put down his mug, and was patiently waiting for an explanation, concern pressuring the corners of his eye.

Gibbs shrugged, "He's got more going on." He looked down, flicking through the folders again, "A wife and baby to prepare for. He'll come back, but he has different priorities."

"Thought he said he'd reach out today?" Vance tilted his head.

"That's what he said on Thursday." Gibbs shrugged. "I don't know if the weekend changed his plans."

The director's eyes narrowed, trying to read what wasn't being said so Gibbs just looked back, blank and open. With a sigh Leon nodded. "Okay. Well, hopefully I'll hear from him sooner than later."

"You will." Gibbs nodded, not admitting he was less than sure about that.

Vance moved back to his chair and Gibbs gathered the agent files together, internally reviewing where he'd start looking for patterns.

"Gibbs." Vances' voice stalled him before he got to the door and he turned, waiting.

"You want to get breakfast on Wednesday before you come in?" Leon asked the question while skimming over a file on the desk but there was something intentional in his tone.

"Breakfast?" Gibbs repeated.

"Yeah, you know, the first meal of the day? Food that's supposed to go with coffee?" Vance looked over the paper in his hands. "If not Wednesday we could do Friday. At that Diner under the overpass?"

"I can do Wednesday." Gibbs replied evenly, eyes narrowed.

"Good." Vance nodded, "Good."

Gibbs didn't move, still curiously processing the invitation.

After a moment Leon put down the memo and lifted a sheepish shrug, "I just thought…After we had lunch last week…y'know, once we're at the office everything else is a priority and I just…it's one of those things you don't realize until…" He grimaced, "Aw, hell it was just a thought."

Blinking, Gibbs furrowed his brow, trying to follow. Was Vance suggesting breakfast for no other reason than to spend time together outside of the office? As actual friends?

His chest tightened with warmth and he allowed himself a smile. "It's a good thought." He nodded. "7:30, after you get the kids off to school?"

Leon relaxed in to his chair, returning the nod, "Works for me."

With a shake of his head, but the smile remaining on his face, Gibbs headed to the conference room.

His mind started to wander, looking forward to Wednesday.

He blinked, his smile moving to a frown. _Why_ was he looking forward to it? He normally hated having his morning routine interrupted, especially on work days. He bit the inside of his lip, thinking back over just the past 20 minutes. He had enjoyed the extra attention from Henry and the other security officers at the front door and had been happy to share the elevator with Torres.

He knew himself, and he knew that over the past 2 decades he had become steadily more set in his ways, and increasingly preferring solitude to people. And he was _never_ a fan of any kind of attention. Yet in the days since getting back from Paris he had found himself leaving the house and seeking out people; dinner with Leyla and Amira, lunch with Fornell, a video call with Tali...he had even agreed to watch a soccer match with Ducky on Sunday. And now he was looking forward to sharing breakfast with Vance on Wednesday.

Why?

Consciously thinking back, none of that felt like himself.

He dropped the files on the table and tapped his fingers on top, puzzling through. People don't _just change,_ especially at his age.

He stilled, the one person he had yet to connect with was Grace Confalone. Maybe Tony was right and it was time to take some of his own advice that he had doled out to others over the years. He would need a psych eval as part of officially getting back to work; maybe he would schedule it with Grace and not blow her off this time. She could tell him if there was something he should be concerned about, if he was heading for a crash or if this was real.

His mind flicked to McGee and his sudden distance and standoffish-ness. Had _he_ booked his psych eval yet?

Gibbs shook his head, there was no use wondering about all of this now. The whole point of being here was to have something productive to focus on. He packed away his curiosity about himself and his concern for Tim and mentally shoved it away; For now, he had work to do.


	24. Chapter 24 - McGee

McGee gripped the steering wheel as he stared at the familiar brick building. He didn't want to be here.

He _did..._ but he didn't.

He sighed and pressed his head back against the seat, scanning the full parking lot. Gibbs' truck was in his spot. He was here. Tim's stomach tightened further. He wasn't sure he was ready to see happy, unaffected Gibbs back at work as if the last 3 months never happened.

He had said he would visit _or_ _call_ the director. He could still drive away and do all he needed to do just by placing a phone call.

But his car had already passed through the check point. It would look odd if someone noticed the record of him driving in but that there was no corresponding record of him checking in to the building.

He sighed.

He had to do this. Delilah had been so happy when he told her he would be talking to Vance, and after the way he had disappointed her this weekend Tim wanted nothing more than to make her happy.

They had their 'date' to lunch and the appliance store as planned on Sunday, but when they got home and went to bed, Tim couldn't stay focused. He loved his wife and found her to be even more beautiful and attractive as the day he met her but the noise in his head refused to leave him alone and he'd been unable to get his body to do what he needed it to do in the moment.

Delilah had been fantastic, not making a fuss or offering the lame comfort of 'it happens to a lot of guys'. She just kissed him, told him she knew he still wasn't sleeping well and must be tired, and they had spent the rest of the evening in bed together simply touching, talking, and dozing. Actually, _Delilah_ had dozed as Tim had held her against his chest, making silent apologies for not being the husband she deserved.

So that morning, when she had gushed about how she was looking forward to hearing all about how his meeting with Vance would go, Tim knew there was no backing out. Some things maybe out of his control but, for her, he could swallow his self doubts and discomfort for an hour and go meet with the director to come up with a plan to get back to work.

With a determined slap of the steering wheel he left the car and headed up the walkway, taking a deep breath before opening the familiar glass door.

"Special Agent McGee!"

He groaned internally as Henry, the security supervisor stepped around the desk with an exuberant greeting.

"Hi Henry. Guys." He nodded to the crew as he passed through the employee entrance and scanned his ID.

Henry continued to stand there, beaming, "What a blessing to have you two back. I tell you. What a blessing."

Tim pulled on a smile and nodded stiffly, "Yeah, we're real grateful to be back." He didn't stop as he continued to the elevator, "It's good to see you again."

He felt bad, being annoyed by the other man's attentiveness but he really just wanted to get in, speak to Vance, and get out with as little attention and fuss as possible.

That hope was dashed as soon as the elevator doors opened.

"Oh. My. God. Best day EVER!" Abbey's excited squeal was muffled as she launched out of the elevator and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Before he had a chance to move she pulled back, "Earlier I got to see Gibbs and he didn't say _anything_ about you coming in too! What are you _doing_ here? Are you working on special projects for the director too? Are you really back?!"

Like with Henry, Tim had to consciously force himself to put on the smile he knew Abbey expected. "I'm just here to have a conversation with Vance, not start anything."

"Oh. Okay." She accepted, stepping back into the elevator and dragging him with her, "But, before you do that, any chance you can come down to the lab with me? I have been working for like _26 hours_ on trying to decrypt this jerk's algorithms and I only _just_ made it through the second level and there are _at least_ 3 more. McGee, you've got to help me..."

While she was chatting, and without giving Tim a chance to say otherwise, Abbey had sent the elevator to the lower levels and guided him out of the cart and into her lab. She picked up the remote for her stereo and flicked on what he recognized to be her 'happy' music.

With a resigned sigh, he followed her to the computers and watched as she pulled up a script and began gesturing as she explained, "At first I thought it was just a simple masked IP but once I picked it up it revealed this whole other gobbitly mess of encryption. See, see here?" She pointed to a line of code, "This is like what he had on the first level but when I do this, which worked before..." She entered a cipher, "It just doubles back on itself!"

He frowned, forgetting his annoyance, taken in by the puzzle. "Let me see."

She stepped aside and he moved in, scrolling back through the log of code to review the first two levels she had broken through. "Ahh. I see..." He muttered as some of the coder's personal patterns began to stand out. He moved back to the unbroken encryption and parsed through the code, entering new ciphers and logic lines.

Everything began to fade around him as he worked. Abbey's chatter and music, the hum of the lights, the occasional ding from the elevator all blended gently into the background and he began to type, hopping ahead of the code and maneuvering through the algorithmic traps. Even the noise from within his own brain; his worries and uncertainties, memories and dreams, it all faded away.

There was only the here and the now.

The numbers and letters on the screen. A puzzle to be solved.

"Go, go..." He gestured to the other computer and he knew Abbey would understand what he needed from her. And she did, hoping on and opening a new connection and causing a diversion at the right moment. Both of their hands hands flying in tandem over the keyboards, the rhythm of the typing driving the moment until, finally...

"Yes..." "Yes?" "Yes..." "Yes!"

"YOU DID IT MCGEE!" Abbey held up her arms in a victory pose.

Tim pumped his fist before spinning in his chair to offer a high five. "It wasn't so hard." He smirked.

Abbey shoved him lightly, "Don't sell yourself short, that was _ah-mazing._ "

He turned back to the screen and frowned, "Unfortunately, I think you're right. There are another two layers of this mess before you can get to the drive's contents."

Abbey swayed in place, "Any chance you want to stick around and help me power through them?"

The truth was, he did. The realization hit him like a freight train.

Ever since getting back from Paraguay, he had been so caught up in worrying about everything and anything that he hadn't had any desire to actually _do_ anything. He had spent so much energy thinking about the next shoe dropping that he hadn't been able to focus on the moment he was in.

He looked at his watch, amazed to see that over an hour had flown by without him even realizing it.

"Oh. Damn..." He looked back up, "I do want to help Abs but I totally lost track of time, it's almost 5. I need to go up and talk to Vance."

"Wait? It's after 4?" She pouted.

"Yes..." Tim checked his watch again, "Why? What's wrong?"

Abbey dropped on to her stool, "I wanted to say goodby to Gibbs before he left for the day."

Tim furrowed his brow, "Abs, it's not even 5. How do you know he's not here anymore?"

"Because Vance has rules about how much Gibbs can work until he's back for real." She explained, shifting things around her workspace. "He had to leave by 4."

"By 4?" Tim repeated.

"Well yeah." Abbey shrugged, "I mean, you know Gibbs. Otherwise he'd be here all night doing whatever he's working on and he's technically not supposed to be here at all."

Tim tilted his head, thinking about just how much Gibbs worked. His boss worked all the time. And when they didn't have a case, Gibbs either found something to get involved in or was working on some big woodworking project. The man _never_ stopped working.

For the first time, Tim considered that maybe Gibbs' devotion to the job didn't come because he liked it, or because of some Marine work ethic, or because he had nothing else going on in his life... maybe the other man was driven to work because he knew what Tim was only just now figuring out; that no matter what problems or issues were plaguing him, he could smother them all with the comfort of keeping busy; by focusing on a project, by getting to work.

He thought back over the time since they had gotten home; they had been stateside for hardly a day before Gibbs had run off to France and then as soon as he came back he immediately made arrangements to return to work. Maybe Gibbs _wasn't_ doing that much better than Tim was...he just knew how to hide it enough to get by and be able to get to work where he would be able to push everything away and not deal with it, ever.

Tim suddenly felt bad for brushing off Gibbs since he came home. Of course the other man wasn't already 'over it', he was just better at pretending. But now Tim knew the trick and he knew what he needed to do in order to finally be able to move on and get back to living his life.

"Thanks Abs, you're a life saver!" He wrapped her in a quick hug before pulling back and jogging to the door.

"Wait!" She called after him, "Don't you want to help me fix this?"

He stopped, "I have to talk to Vance and get things moving, but I'll be back. I promise." This time when he smiled it was broad and genuine, "Because I do want to fix it; I really do."


	25. Chapter 25 - Gibbs

Gibbs rolled his shoulders as he stepped out of the locker room. The pool was empty this early in the morning, just the way he liked it.

He took his time, giving himself a good stretch before hopping in to the shallow end of the lane.

Relying on the pool for his primary workout had been his one concession to the steady march of time.

He occasionally began swimming in lieu of running sometime shortly after he had recruited DiNozzo into NCIS. He had been tripped up chasing a suspect and for nearly a month after, every step he took reminded him, in addition to sending him into a coma, that explosion during the Gulf War had torn nearly every ligament in his knee.

The joint would act up on occasion with and without reason. He knew he was on the fast track for a replacement even before Luke Harris; that bullet just sped up the inevitable. After getting shot, swimming had been integral in his rehab process for not only the knee but also his lung. He had found a comfort in the zen like pull of doing laps multiple days a week and even after he had passed all physical requirements, he still preferred a morning in the pool as opposed to weights, treadmills or Ducky's beloved pilates.

As he began long steady strokes moving up the pool, he smirked to himself, recalling a day last year when he had overheard Torres, still new to the team, commenting about how he never saw Gibbs working out in the gym. Acting as if he had not over heard, Gibbs had suggested a team PT and invited Torres to spar with him in the ring.

The younger man had started off going easy on him, so Gibbs had tossed a few shots designed to make him up his game. When he was confident Torres was giving him an honest effort he had gone in for the take down; a well placed leg and quick leverage and Torres was on his back, looking up in wide eyed shock.

Nick had jumped back up and Gibbs had returned him to the ground 3 more times while Bishop and McGee looked on, laughing. Internally he had made a promise to himself that if the day came that he couldn't take down one of his own agents, that was the day Gibbs would retire from the field.

With that in mind, he reached further and pulled harder against the water, picking up the pace.

It was funny that he had come to enjoy the activity so much. Swimming had been the hardest part of boot camp for him. When he had arrived at Parris Island he was among the fastest in the company, able to run laps through the obstacle courses and trails.

But growing up in Pennsylvania coal country hadn't afforded much opportunity for swimming. They had a 'swimming hole' in the woods behind his house which wasn't more than a 3 foot deep pond that was best for fishing and to float toy boats. There was nothing to prepare him for the deep water training required of all Marines.

He had almost drowned the first time they had to do an equipment drop. He had gotten tangled trying to keep his head above water and his heavy harness and pack pulled him under. A DI had fished him out, told him to act more like a Marine than a stone, and unceremoniously shoved him back in to the water.

Recalling the memory, he kicked harder, swam faster.

Kelly had loved the water. Even as an infant in the shallow water of the tub she would splash and giggle, just happy to be surrounded by water. As she got older and they made family trips to beach he was infinitely grateful for the swim training had endured when his daughter would cling to him, in the ocean surf, refusing to admit she was tired and it was time to leave.

He swam faster, his lungs beginning to burn. He turned his head to take a breath.

Miscalculating, he took in some water.

He stopped short, coughing and flailing; his heart racing in a panic.

Belatedly he remembered with embarrassment that the pool was only 5 feet deep and he dropped his legs to stand. Slowly walking to the edge of the pool he focused on taking deep breaths.

It actually hadn't been much water he swallowed and by all rights he should have been able to just spit it out and kept going. However, it had been enough of a choke that his memories to jerked him out of the comforting trance of his swim and back to that table in the Paraguayan ship when he was certain he'd never breath again.

Suddenly feeling a discomfort with the water that he hadn't felt for decades, he pulled himself out of the pool and sat on the edge, continuing to breath and force his heart rate back to normal as the ripples stilled.

He looked at his reflection and sighed. He'd only been at it for 10 minutes but he had no desire to get back in.

He contained a groan; if he couldn't swim there was no way he could pass his upcoming physical exam.

He squeezed his shoulder blades together. He had been planning on waiting until next week to call Dr. Nuali and head to Bethesda for final clearance but the plan had moved up after late on Monday when the phone had rung and McGee's number had flashed on the screen.

Given the evasive conversations that had become typical from Tim over the last few weeks he wasn't sure what to expect. Taking a breath he flipped the phone open, "Yeah, Gibbs."

" _Boss; when are you planning on going back to work for real?_ " Gibbs' eyebrows had arched at the excitement in the younger man's voice that had been absent for so long.

He shrugged, "Not sure yet. Why?"

" _I spoke with Vance a few hours ago, I'm good to come back as soon as I clear everything up_." McGee explained, rapid fire, " _I've got firearms scheduled for tomorrow but the earliest Dr. Nuali has for the final physical is Thursday at 9. I thought maybe if you didn't already have plans we could double up and maybe have lunch together after?_ "

Gibbs had blinked dumbly at the phone. He had tried connecting with Tim in person since he got back from Paris last week and had been curious about McGee's personal plans for even longer. And now, all in one breath Tim was jumping to a completely different place.

Consciously reigning in his instinct to be concerned he nodded, "I could do Thursday..." He had looked to the stack of personnel files he had snuck out of the office, calculating the likelihood of wrapping up the FLETC project before Thursday.

" _Good. Great_."

Tim's smile was clear in his voice and Gibbs couldn't help but grin as well, "What's got you so fired up?"

" _Just really think work is the best I could be doing right now."_ Tim explained vaguely.

Gibbs nodded slowly, understanding exactly. "Sometimes jumping right into it is the best way to get back to normal."

" _Yep."_ Tim agreed, " _Kind of wish I figured that out a week or two earlier…"_

"Nah." Gibbs cautioned, settling back into his couch, "Time off is a good thing."

McGee scoffed, " _Yeah. Right._ "

"I may not always the best at it myself, doesn't mean it isn't true." He conceded.

" _Well, I've had enough time off._ " McGee returned levelly, " _Need to get back to doing something productive._ "

Gibbs smiled, "I hear you." He glanced at his watch, "I'll give Bethesda a call, see if Nuali has a space right behind you on Thursday."

He wasn't sure what had suddenly flipped for McGee that he was suddenly eager to get to work. Must have been something Vance had said, he'd be sure to ask him at breakfast.

But for now, he needed to keep working on his own fitness requirements. They weren't especially stringent but even he had to begrudgingly admit that with each decade that passed, a little more effort was required to maintain the physical standards. If he was going to pass the stress test in two days he couldn't let up, he needed to get back in the pool.

He looked at the water and his throat tightened.

He shook it off and dropped back in, the his old drill instructor still echoing in his head; he was a Marine, nothing could stop him.

He put his face back underwater and kicked off.


	26. Chapter 26 - McGee

_A/N - Only a few more chapters left. My original intent was to just bring it right up to the start of episode 2 but I realize there are a number of readers who have not yet seen the episode so that would leave this feeling unfinished and unsatisfying for those folks. With that in mind, I am intending 2 more chapters to bring us up to the episode, one taking place during the episode and one taking place immediately after the episode._

 _Also - not that this is really the place but I need to vent after this week's episode; I really want all this to come back up again for our characters (throw away lines have made me think they'd have something happen for Tim but nothing, nada, zilch) AND I really want Maria Bello's character to talk it out with Gibbs. If they don't somehow connect her past story line of once being held captive with what happened with Gibbs and Tim then they are missing a huge opportunity._ _Okay. Vent over. Back to the story. :-)_

* * *

 _"Babe, you okay?"_

The echo of his wife's voice echoed in Tim's head as he jogged.

 _"How are you feeling?"_

 _"Doing alright?"_

He turned on to the path that would take him along the Potomac, followed by all the questions and concerns that had been directed at him since their return.

It was expected and he knew people asked because they cared, but when he didn't have a good answer that just meant he needed to deflect or lie to people _he_ cared about.

 _"Babe, you okay?"_

The worst was Delilah's voice coming through the darkness each night. As he tossed and turned, eventually he would end up waking her and she'd reach out, half asleep, squeezing his forearm and asking, "Babe, you okay?"

He put one foot in front of the other on the asphalt, running harder, even as his legs tired.

He had been so excited to return to work that he had rushed to schedule the physical evaluation without considering that he hadn't _actually_ been jogging all those mornings; that the last 3 weeks he'd been sitting around drinking coffee and eating pastries.

But he had to pass the physical, he had to get back to work.

Once he did, the questions would stop. And even if they didn't, he'd have better answers; "I'm great, just closed a case.", "Worried about this suspect", "Still laughing at a prank Bishop pulled on Torres."

And if he was invested enough in a case, the noise in his head would stop, just like it did the other day when he was helping Abbey with the computers. If he had a case he was concerned enough about, maybe he'd finally be able to sleep.

He had thought he'd be able to sleep on Monday after his personal realization in the lab. With a solid plan in place he had anticipated his worries being soothed and being able to lay down for a peaceful night. But the dark thoughts had still encroached and he had tossed and turned, managing only snippets of exhausted sleep interrupted by haunting dreams.

The next day he considered he might have just been excited, that his brain was staying active in anticipation of everything getting started again. So Tuesday he strived to exhaust himself. He had _actually_ worked out for the first time. Jogged the 5 miles to the gym where he did some weighted interval training and ran the 5 miles back.

His body was spent, but Tim felt good as he ate his healthy dinner. He had really believed he'd exhausted himself enough to finally get a solid night's sleep.

But when he lay back in the bed he realized that if he was at work then that meant there was a good chance he wouldn't be available when Delilah went into labor. He suddenly was confronted by mental images of his wife, stuck in an elevator or hailing a sketchy cab while Tim was miles away dealing with some dangerous criminal.

It was 3am when he had inadvertently woken Delilah and she had reached out, _"You okay, Babe?"_

Tim came to a stop on the edge of the river, taking breaths in quick, heavy gulps.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he checked his pulse. It was in a good range. Despite being out of breath he suspected he'd pass the stress test no problem. Glancing to his watch, his eyebrows arched, he had made better time than he thought.

He straightened and began to walk up the path.

The night before, he had sent his wife back to her blissful slumber with a kiss to her forehead and an assurance that he was, indeed, okay. She had drifted back off as easily as she had woken. After, he had sat sat against the headboard, watching her for a long, envious moment.

If he couldn't get his thoughts to quiet down he'd never get any sleep. And despite his pace today, he knew lack of sleep could negatively impact a physical exam.

But there was more than just a physical exam waiting for him on Thursday. He also was going to finally need to make an appointment for a psych evaluation.

Psych exams had been no problem in the past; he had spent so much of his life trying to be what other people expected of him that he was comfortable with self-analysis. But he knew it wasn't unlikely that his weeks of hardly sleeping would come up.

What if he didn't have the right answers? What if he didn't pass?

He had finally realized that working was the solution to burying the inherent worrying in his brain, would it be irony if he was precluded from working _because_ of that inherent worry?

With an audible grunt of frustration he stopped walking. Leaning his forearms on the shaped granite balustrade his eyes drifted to the dark rushing current of the river.

The angled ripples and pooling eddies reminded him of the torrents in his own mind. If he was going to pass this pysch eval he needed to reclaim the self control, his ability to stay focused and steady.

He wondered how Gibbs did it. He was convinced now, more than ever, that Gibbs had never really recovered from the mental and emotional traumas in his life. Somehow he was just able to shove them all aside and focus on work instead of ever moving on with life.

Tim bit his lip remembering that Gibbs had also notoriously evaded all required evaluations for as long as he had been at the agency. He knew his boss had also avoided most polygraphs.

Somehow the rules barely seemed to touch the other man.

Tim wondered how Gibbs did it and what point he could try pushing those boundaries himself…

What would happen if he just _never_ scheduled an eval? If he just nodded when he was told it needed to get done and then kept coming into work like normal?

It's not like Gibbs would tell him to go. He doubted that Vance would care enough to follow up on him.

He tapped the stone under his hands, _that_ could be the solution. He wouldn't necessarily need to avoid it forever, just long enough to allow him to get back to work, reclaim some normalcy and allow his mind to refocus.

And if that didn't work, he'd just figure out the answers the psychologist wanted to hear; that he had some dreams but he had great support from his wife and he was looking forward to returning to normal.

Tim knew that Gibbs' surgeon, Dr. Taft, had pressured him into speaking with Dr. Confalone as part of his recovery after Iraq, but Tim also knew Gibbs didn't see her as a real shrink. That they'd meet somewhere outside of her office and he'd just talk out loud about whatever he was working on.

Maybe he could end up talking with _her_ if avoidance didn't work out; if she was that casual and friendly with Gibbs then she'd definitely accept whatever Tim came up with. It seemed likely she was the kind of doc who would just sign off on both of them going back to work without too much of a hassle.

He pulled his eyes from the rushing water and looked up the river to where the bridge crossed the water, to Arlington and the acres of deceased service members memorialized in the national cemetery.

He and Gibbs almost died in Paraguay; by all rights _should_ have died down there. But they didn't. They survived and made it home.

There should be nothing left to fear.

He should be okay by now.

He would be, eventually.

He just needed to get back to work and for people to stop asking him questions.


	27. Chapter 27 - Gibbs

"Morning, sorry, I'm late." Vance rushed, pulling off his rain coat.

Gibbs remained focused on sipping his coffee, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he tracked his breakfast companion's trek across the narrow diner.

Shaking off the rain, Leon dropped into the booth, "It is bad enough getting teenagers out of the door on a nice morning, add in the rain and it turns into a full-on production." He leaned forward, "Who knew a woman's hair is so complicated…"

Gibbs smirked then snorted, his mind conjuring an image of Diane running to the car, a shopping bag over her head and huffing her frustration as he took his time unlocking the doors. "I have some recollection."

"Of course." Leon replied almost to himself, pausing slightly as he settled against the vinyl booth and laminated table.

Anything else he was about to say was cut off by the brusque arrival of Elaine, mug and coffee at the ready. "What else can I get you?" She asked, pouring the coffee and nudging Gibbs so she could refill his.

Leon blinked, "Uh, thank you, the coffee is…"

"Don't you even _try_ to say the coffee is enough." She cut him off, "I don't know where you people have been these past months; but I will not stand by while you all waste away. Not on my watch."

Gibbs shrugged and gestured, "I've got a plate of eggs and bacon on the way."

Vance looked from him to the waitress, impatiently holding her notepad, "I guess that sounds good for me too."

Elaine nodded, clucking her tongue and muttering to herself as she walked back behind the counter, "Menfolk not taking care of themselves, thinkin' they don't be needing a good breakfast..."

The two agents looked at one another with matching raised eyebrows that morphed into grins once they were alone.

"You certainly do surround yourself with a cast of characters." Vance leaned back, sipping on the coffee.

"Mhrm." Gibbs affirmed, not bothering to hide the fact that he was fond of most of those characters; even the occasionally pushy waitress.

Refocusing his attention to the man on the other side of the table, Gibbs tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. Vance's usually dark complexion seemed lighter than usual, the skin under his eyes appearing wane and haggard.

There had been a time, years ago when Gibbs had been frustrated by his inability to read the freshly appointed director; Leon Vance could be as still and closed off as himself. Today that stoicism was nowhere to be seen; Vance repeatedly twisted the mug in his hands and kept rolling his shoulders, eyes roaming, non-stop.

"How you doing, Leon?" He found himself asking without thought.

The director's face registered surprise before crumpling into bemusement, " _ **You**_ are asking how _**I'm**_ doing?"

Gibbs shifted back in the booth, not breaking eye contact.

Leon's brow creased and he opened his mouth, but didn't speak, no response forthcoming.

Casting a quick glance at the other occupants of the diner Gibbs leaned slightly forward, his forearms on the table, "I can guess the hell storm must have come down on you once Torres' after action report was filed."

Vance relented, shoulders dropping, "You could say that." He also spared a beat to assure none of the other regulars were within hearing distance, "We were in the middle of a Capitol Hill Grilling when Bishop made contact."

"Ducky mentioned." Gibbs nodded. He had met up with the medical examiner a few times since returning and once the older man had been assured of Gibbs' health, he had no shortage of words to describe the troublesome and exhausting summer it had been for everyone in Washington.

"Yes, well, you know this town; it's all politics." Vance leaned back, "You only get in trouble if it doesn't work out. As soon as we got word you were aboard the Larson it was backslaps and congratulations all around."

"But it was finger pointing and damnations for the three months prior." Gibbs redirected, finding himself unwilling to allow any obfuscation about the other man's well-being.

Leon's actions and accommodations over the last few weeks had been a welcome salve, but coming out of the fog of survival, Gibbs was starting to realize the impact their disappearance had on others. A new sense of near guilt filled him as he registered the exhaustion in the man whom he had able to count on as a stalwart presence over the past 10 years.

To Gibbs' surprise, Vance began to chuckle, his mouth turning up in a grin and shaking his head.

"What?" Gibbs tilted his head, unable to fathom what was so amusing.

"You." Vance shook his head settling. Sitting back, his eyes traced Gibbs' face, "It /has/ been a long three months." He paused with a steady breath through his nose, "And I've done a lot of thinking…reflecting…." He paused and Gibbs felt himself compelled to shift under the ambiguous look. A seriousness overcame Vance's features and he sighed, shoulders softening, "I've always been aware that you've never treated me like your boss…"

"That's not true." Gibbs immediately interjected, baffled by the apparent non-sequitur, but compelled to defend himself, "You call the shots."

"When you _let_ me." Vance countered, a lightness to his eyes that contrasted everything else about him in the moment, "When I make calls you don't like, you get downright insubordinate. When I make calls you _really_ disagree with, you outright ignore me." He leaned back, "That's _if_ you clue me in to what's happening at all."

Gibbs swallowed and looked down. The operation last May had been his call. He hadn't told Vance he was taking his team to Paraguay until after the flights were booked and he had moved forward with plans for rescuing the children without briefing his chain of command. The director only learned of the plan because he had happened to walk in to MTAC before Bishop and Reeves were about to ask him to sign off on the helo.

He bit down on his lower lip. He didn't do apologies…it was one of the most steadfast rules...but the past 3 months had him rethinking some things he had always taken for granted.

"Leon…Look…" he pulled his head up, stopped again by the smile that had appeared on the other man's face.

"Don't." Vance cut him off. "I'm not done."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes and sat back in the booth.

"It used to drive me crazy." Vance began again, "And I'm sure once we get back into things it will again…but…" He took a deep breath, "Your absolute absence these past 3 months has made me realize a few things. Begrudgingly, appreciation for your lack of respect for procedure and rank may be one."

Gibbs could say nothing, bewildered.

Vance looked down, pressing his palm with his thumb as he spoke, "I have my children, whom I love; but I am their father first and foremost." He looked back up, "And all of NCIS are my employees, my subordinates. Even Ducky never addresses me without my title. I'm friendly with other agency directors, but they see me for my job first and pay me all due respect." He looked away, "And I barely ever see the few non-work friends I still claim to have."

Shifting forward, he swallowed, "You've often treated me more like an obstacle than an ally and you've infuriated me to no end…but the truth is, that since Jackie died, you're the only person whom I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, I can count on; no matter the situation or the stakes." He took a breath, his eyes darkening, his grin ghosting away, "I don't think I was really aware how…lonely…it was until we finally got that video call from the Larson…" He paused, eyes unfocused as he returned to the memory, "You know, that was the first time in 3 months that anyone said my name. It hadn't registered before, but since my wife died, you are the only person I see regularly who calls me by my first name."

Gibbs blinked.

And blinked again.

His mouth opened and then he closed it.

Leon leaned back, his smile returned; smaller, muted. "This job is alienating enough. We've lost so many. Morrow, Jarvis, Eli, Jackie…"

"Jenny, Mike, Kate…Ziva." Gibbs added to the list, throat constricting.

"And too many more." Leon nodded, "Sometimes it feels like you and I are the only ones left from a bygone time. After each close call; each explosion, shooting, murdering psychopath…I wonder how it is we managed to be the ones who are still here…"

Gibbs swallowed. It was as if Vance was reading his mind, speaking aloud the question he had only asked himself in the quiet and dark; _'Shannon, Kelly, Diane…why them and not me? Why do I continue to survive?'_

Looking back up he saw that lingering question reflected in Leon.

"I'm just thankful…I didn't have to add your name to that list." Vance managed, voice tight.

Unbidden, Gibbs felt the corners of his lips push up until he was smiling, "Not yet. Leon." He emphasized the other man's first name. "You're still stuck with me." He picked up his mug and peered into his coffee, "And don't forget that while most around here only know you as _Director_ Vance; I still remember the brash young agent who squashed my pastry."

Vance's brow furrowed and his face morphed from somber to amused, "I paid you back for that."

Gibbs shrugged, "Mess with a man's breakfast, he remembers."

"You got that right!" Elaine agreed with boisterous enthusiasm, returning to the table with two heaping plates. "I told Lewis to load on some extra bacon." She smiled warmly, "So eat up!"

Gibbs nodded his appreciation and made a show of picking up a piece of the breakfast meat.

For a while the two men ate in quiet. Paris had done wonders in restoring Gibbs' appetite and he really was grateful for the extra bacon. As he looked across the table it seemed like his companion was eating with similar gusto.

Looking up, Vance noticed he was being watched. He lifted a shoulder in sheepish admission, "Kayla has been on a smoothie kick. This is the first real food I've had for breakfast in ages."

"How are Kayla and Jared?" Gibbs asked with a half a chuckle.

"Good." Leon nodded, "Jared is trying out for Varsity lacrosse and Kayla is starting to look at colleges."

"Big step." Gibbs raised his eyebrows, "Does she know where she wants to go?"

"First choice is Georgetown." Vance's chest lifted a little, "I figure the fact she's looking at schools close to home means I've been doing something right."

Gibbs smiled, "I don't doubt you have."

"It hasn't always been easy." Vance fiddled with his fork, "I try to make time for them when I can and I'm grateful that they are good kids and I can trust them as they are getting older and more independent but there are times when they come home with their problems and expect me to have all the answers and I have to admit, 9 times out of 10 I am totaling winging it. I feel like I almost never have the right thing to say."

"I'm sure you do fine." Gibbs assured without thought, "They're good kids because that's how you raised them." He paused a beat, looking back down to his eggs, "And you certainly said the right things to Tim."

Vance frowned, "McGee?"

Gibbs looked up, nodding in the affirmative, "Monday? To help him decide about going back to work?"

"I didn't…" Vance gave a slow shake of his head, "Tim came up to my office at the end of the day all fired up. It was barely a conversation and more of a negotiation about what he needed to do to get cleared." He frowned, "I assumed you were behind it."

Gibbs put his fork down, thinking back over every conversation he had with Tim in the previous weeks. He had been genuinely surprised by the apparent change in the younger agent's attitude and was certain nothing he said had made a difference. In fact, he had started to suspect Tim had actively been avoiding him. It had gotten to the point that he had braced himself for the expectant father to request a new assignment or even resign.

He matched Vance's frown, "I wasn't."

"You must have talked about it." Vance countered but Gibbs just shook his head.

"Haven't. I invited him when you and I met last week but that's the most we talked about it. He was always rushing off the phone."

"The phone?" Vance perked up, "Not in person."

The discomfort that had pushing at Gibbs before Tim's enthusiastic call on Monday, returned. With something akin to shame he admitted, "Haven't seen him since you and I dropped him off that night."

Leon just stared back, confusion on his face.

"I went to Paris almost immediately…" Gibbs tried to articulate the justifications he had made for himself, "And if he was trying to return to normal…"

"Then you would see each other almost every day." Vance interjected. "Should I be concerned? I don't want to approve his return to the field if it isn't going to be healthy for him or safe for others."

"Leon…" Gibbs rolled his eyes at the insinuation that McGee could ever be a liability.

"No…" Vance held up a hand, "You know what I'm saying. I still don't know all the details that went on down there but it doesn't take an investigative mind to know it wasn't pretty."

Gibbs resisted the impulse to squirm and look away as Vance made a point of looking at the still prominent cut under Gibbs' eye and his malformed knuckle wrapped around the white coffee mug.

"What you two went through was likely the most difficult thing Agent McGee has ever endured and trauma like that changes a person. You _know_ reentry is tough." Vance grimaced, "It is an ugly fact that suicide is a huge problem with folks returning from war…"

"Suicide!?" Gibbs snorted, "Come on Leon; the kid is about to be a father."

"The _man_ is returning home from a traumatic experience and has a sudden and unexplained shift deciding to rush back into the position that sees him frequently face mortal danger." Vance stared back steadily.

Gibbs looked away and shook his head, biting his tongue. He _knew_ Tim. Even before they endured hell together, he _knew_ Tim. "That's _not_ what this is." He forced as much certainty into his voice as possible.

Vance stared hard back, pressure narrowing his eyes and tightening his jaw.

Gibbs stared back, unrelenting. Maybe there was something off with Tim but maybe the whole thing was in Gibbs' head. He _hadn't_ seen the other man in weeks and had no real idea how he was doing other than the phone calls where Tim had repeatedly said he was doing well. When had he decided against trusting the younger man?

He shifted, looking down.

"What?" Vance pressed.

"Never mind. Tim is fine." Gibbs assured with as much confidence as he could muster.

Vance's eyes narrowed, telling him he had not been successful in neutralizing the Director's concerns.

"McGee says he's fine and I believe him. That's that." He tried again.

"Didn't sound that simple a minute ago." Vance rebutted, "You don't have _any_ concerns about Agent McGee returning to work?"

Gibbs grimaced and lifted a shoulder, "I think, I may be have been just looking for something that isn't there anymore."

Vance's eyebrows arched, "What is that supposed to mean?"

Gibbs shrugged and poked at the food in front of him, his appetite seeming to fade as his realization grew.

"Gibbs…" Leon pushed.

He looked up, sighing, "Tim doesn't need me anymore."

"What?" Vance straightened, trying to follow the logic.

Gibbs shifted and clenched his jaws, "I…he…" He stopped, taking a beat to try and coalesce his feelings into words. "Tim has grown a lot. More than any other agent I've worked with." He shifted, "I like working with certain people because they've needed things from me." He winced, uncomfortable with that particular truth, "And Tim needed a lot. He was always smart and resourceful with a strong sense of honor; but he wasn't prepared for the reality of living with a gun on your hip."

He looked down, "But he's not who he used to be." He swallowed, "I gave him an out. In Paraguay, I told him, in light of Delilah and the baby that he didn't need to go with us that morning." He looked back up, meeting Vance's eyes, " _He_ told _me_ that he was a special agent and as such he had a job he was expected to do. And then, when everything went to hell, he came back for me. He was _on_ the helo. Safe, ready to go. And then he got off to have my back. And he did, all the way through it. During the worst, he kept up the talk of home, and counted the food, collected the water, plotted most of the escape plan…"

He brought a hand up to his mouth, covering his chin as he recalled how much he had truly leaned on the younger man during those dark days on the ship. "There is no way we can return to what it was before, to ' _normal_ '. McGee doesn't need me showing him how to be an agent, lecturing him on how things work in the field." He swallowed, "He doesn't need me." He looked up, "Perhaps, I made up reasons to be concerned because worrying about Tim is what I'm used to doing."

Vance blinked. He leaned back, hands on either side of his plate, breakfast forgotten. He breathed in and out, not relinquishing his focus on Gibbs. When he finally spoke it was with an air of finality which brokered no room for disagreement.

"First of all," He waited until Gibbs pulled up his head to meet his eyes, "There _is_ something off with Agent McGee. I would be shocked if there wasn't. But the fact that he's trying to hide it tells me that he _does_ need you. He is trying to figure out how to move forward from what you've gone through. There is no book to read or manual to study; all he has is you showing the way." He smirked, "Hell, that's probably why he's so gung ho to get to work; all he has seen is you diving into your work to solve every problem, personal or professional. I suspect he's going to be looking to you maybe more than ever before." He shifted, "And that means you need to take care of yourself."

Gibbs' eyes narrowed but Vance didn't stop, "If Tim has been hiding from you it's because you're so damn perceptive that he probably fears you'd pick up on whatever he's trying to smother." A small smile grew, "I know, I've been there. After I came back from that damn mortar explosion years back, it was like you knew all of my doubts and insecurities that had been brought forth." He smirked, "But those are things that we can't hide from. Tim needs to have a psych eval; you both do…and I won't believe it if this is a one and done situation. He needs to know not to hide whatever he's going through, that it's okay to get help and to talk beyond the eval session."

"Is this your way of telling to get to the shrink?" Gibbs jibed.

Vance rolled his eyes, "It's my way of saying don't hide it when you do." He leaned back, "And as for the other stuff, maybe it's about time there was someone on your team whom you respect more as a partner than a wayward soul."

Gibbs frowned.

Vance shrugged, "You've shouldered a lot since you've taken on MCRT. More than most people realize. And Gibbs, let's face it, our luck can only hold out for so much longer, by choice or circumstance, retirement from the field isn't far down the road. Perhaps having a team member like Agent McGee will help you let go of some of that you carry and accept a future where you aren't the one looking out for these people."

Gibbs huffed and Vance sighed, "I'm not saying I'm expecting you to take a back seat…but let Tim take the reins occasionally while you give yourself a break; you know, enjoy this life that fate seems to be so determined that you live."

Gibbs stared back to Vance for a long moment before looking down and pushing the food across his plate, mulling over the conversation.

Either Tim needed help, or he didn't.

If he did, Gibbs would play a part in paving a path back to normal and figuring out how to move on to life after Paraguay.

If he didn't, their new dynamic could be a resource for the team. Gibbs' detached routine didn't always seem to be what Bishop and Torres needed; Tim was someone who would let the younger members of the team vent and digress before pulling them back to focus. Truly fit into his role as the senior field agent.

Regardless, Tim wasn't about to spell out what he needed or wanted.

So Gibbs just needed to be patient.

That he could do.

He nodded, "Okay."

"Okay?" Vance echoed back. "That's it? After all that, all you have to say is 'okay'?"

Pressure pulled at the corner of Gibbs' lips and he smirked, "Yeah."

Exasperation seeped through every bit of Vance's being as he shook his head, "Yeah, Okay, Sure." He smiled, "I can't believe I'm glad you're back."

"But you are." Gibbs gestured with his coffee.

"Yeah…" Vance admitted with a sigh and without hesitation, "I really am."


	28. Chapter 28 - McGee

_A/N- First of all SORRY for the delayed posting on this; the words just weren't working for me. BUT I have something new in the works and felt I needed to finish this before I really worked on that._

 _This chapter is two parts; the first happens right before the opening scenes of the episode ' **Twofer'** and the second half is immediately after the conclusion of the episode. I'm not getting into the psych appointments because those were shown in the episode._

 _There is an epilogue chapter on the way which take place later in the season._

 _THANK YOU!_

* * *

"Big improvement. Really Tim, Good job." Dr. Nuali patted him on the shoulder.

The tightness in Tim's chest began to loosen as he seemed to clear one more hurdle, "So I'm good? Passed?"

Nuali glanced down over the chart, "Your numbers are good, and you passed the PT reqs…" He nodded, "Just one last step." He held up a specimen cup. "Bathroom is down the hall. Just drop it at the desk when you're done."

Tim lightly took the cup, nodding, "Thanks, Doc…."

Instead of heading straight down the hall, he paused, peering into the waiting room as he opened the door. The tightness returned as he realized the room was empty.

"You okay, Tim?" Nuali lightly prodded him forward.

"Uh, yeah, I just…" He frowned and turned back, "I thought Agent Gibbs was coming in this morning…"

Nuali nodded as he exchanged charts with the nurse at the desk, "He's at the blood work lab."

With a breath, Tim consciously reminded himself to relax. It was crazy to be so anxious about his reunion with his boss. Nothing was different. He was still him and Gibbs was still Gibbs and they were back in DC. They worked seamlessly together for 14 years and they had an established norm which would _not_ be derailed by 3 months of…

He shook his head, grimacing at the doctor who was still looking at him. "Uh, bathroom that way?" He pointed down the hall and promptly turned in the direction.

Once in the privacy of the bathroom, he breathed.

"C'mon Tim." He berated himself. He could not sink into his own head, especially now. He couldn't give anyone a reason to throw up a red flag that would prevent him from getting back to work. The work and the routine were all he needed to get his brain settled down. He just had to avoid his psych appointment until he could get back to normal.

He filled the cup quickly and washed his hands. Staring at himself in the mirror he narrowed his eyes, "Come on Tim. Straighten up. Get to work. That's all you need to do; Get. To. Work. Just be normal with Gibbs. You can do this. You're fine. You can do this."

Exhaling, he straightened his shoulders and gave himself a once over a sharp nod.

Stepping out of the bathroom he smiled at the nurse behind the computer, "Uh…I…" He gestured awkwardly with the warm cup.

The young man smiled, "Make sure your name is on it and then you can place it in the bag."

Tim accepted the Ziploc bag, placing the cup inside. As he was working the seal, a hand lighted on his shoulder and he jumped.

"Agent McGee? Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Tim's eyes went wide and his fingers fumbled as he recognized first the voice and then the face of Dr. Grace Confalone.

"Uh, no, uh, yeah, it's fine…" He stumbled, fidgeting with the bag in his hand and haphazardly tossing it back to the nurse before forcing a smile at the diminutive psychologist.

He clenched his molars as her eyes swept over him, "It is good to see you."

"Good to be seen." He raised a shoulder and tried broadening his smile.

She shook her head, "Well, you look good." Her eyes lingered on his goatee, "How's it been? Being back?"

Tim consciously forced himself not to flinch and to relax. This was the first big test; Confalone was a shrink, he had to be able to convince her. He forced himself to think of last night as he sat watching Delilah sleep, her hand unconsciously over her pregnant stomach.

He felt his smile become more relaxed, genuine, "It's been great." He answered as honestly as he ever had, "My wife, Delilah, took some time off of work and I've mostly been spending time with her but my family came and visited last week. I hadn't seen my Mom or sister since last Christmas so that was nice. You know, overall it's been great, really, really, great."

"Aww." Grace smiled warmly, "It's good to have family in times like these." She tilted her head, "I won't be given your files until Nuali is done so I haven't had a chance to read all the details." She narrowed her eyes, "You guys were in South America?"

"Paraguay." Tim replied shortly.

"Paraguay…" She repeated in disbelief. "Really?"

He shrugged, "We go where we need to." His chest lifted as a bit of the familiar pride returned, buoyed by the admiration on the doctor's face.

Most people hadn't heard of NCIS or if they did, they equated field agents with MPs or JAG but when they heard the stories of the cases he helped solve, the places he'd been and the things he'd seen, they usually were impressed. Growing up he saw how his father's uniform would impress everyone he met, and when someone realized the true nature of his role at NCIS, Tim could see some of that same respect that used to be directed to his father.

He was determined not to let anyone take being a field agent away from him and the woman next to him was the most immediate threat.

He was saved from having to make an excuse to distance himself from her when the examination room door opened and Gibbs appeared alongside Dr. Nuali, reviewing something in his chart.

Tim's eyes appraised the other man.

Just like the video call from Paris, Gibbs was clean shaven and his hair was cut, though still longer than normal, the tops of his ears covered by the gray strands. The cuts and abrasions on his face, which had still been starkly visible in the video call, were faded or gone. He wasn't wearing the suit jacket and shirt which had become customary for him; instead he seemed to be wearing a t-shirt under a casual jacket which he struggled to zipper for a moment, causing Tim to notice the still grossly malformed knuckle.

He contained his wince, forcing a smile as Gibbs registered their presence and approach with a smile and bounce in his step. There wasn't time to process the hug he was suddenly receiving from the man who rarely would offer a hand to the shoulder.

In that moment, something clicked. All of his apprehension and anxiety faded. In fact, for a second he even wondered how he had possibly been so nervous to see his boss. His simple presence was like a balm to Tim's frayed nerves. He felt the same as that morning on the Larson, as they sat side by side, watching the dawn break, simply taking comfort from the presence of the other.

As Gibbs stepped back and patted Tim's cheek, he felt okay for the first time since being home. He felt vindicated in his plan that work would give him what he needed to pass his psych eval.

As if the universe wanted to prove that, for once, it was on his side, Bishop rang his phone just as Confalone tried to corner him into scheduling an appointment.

He and Gibbs rode the elevator to the parking garage in silence.

"Where's your car?"

Tim's jaw clenched. Yet again he had been unable to bring himself to park in the dark, cracked, parking garage. Just stepping into it made his stomach clench. But he swallowed and stepped out, determined to hid his hesitation from the other man. If Gibbs could stand it, Tim shouldn't have a problem.

"Delilah dropped me off." He shrugged as he lied, avoiding eye contact.

Gibbs paused but gestured with his head. "I'm over here."

McGee exhaled and forced himself not to examine the support beams as they walked deeper into the dark and damp parking structure. Okay. So maybe Gibbs being around didn't calm _all_ of his anxieties. But that would take time.

They were about to go to their first crime scene in months. Once he had all the facts of the case buzzing around his brain would be too busy to worry about other things. He just needed to follow Gibbs' lead for now and get to work…then maybe he would be able to relax.

He could do this.

* * *

Tim sighed as he left the medical building. Yet again he had parked in the auxiliary lot. If had just parked in the garage he wouldn't be here, at night, exhausted, walking all the way to his car.

It had been a long couple of days. As cases go, Lt Coyne's murder wasn't a particularly straining mystery but the effort of making sure no one questioned his stability and right to be there was much more than Tim had anticipated. It was downright taxing to consistently be anticipating how everyone else was perceiving him.

And to top it off, he fought with Gibbs. He still felt a tightness in his stomach as he thought back to the early hours of the morning, the pure hurt and anger in the other man's eyes when Tim had suggested his boss was faking his acclimation.

He knew the man wasn't impervious as they had used to joke; but he had wanted so badly to know that it was possible to be fine, that Gibbs had the answer to shaking off everything that had happened and tucking it neatly away into his past with everything else.

He should have known better. The man he found behind a locked door, awake and working at an ungodly hour of the morning, was not the smiling man who seemed eager to embrace each moment as he had since that morning watching the sunrise from the deck of the USS Larson. In the basement, alone, Gibbs had once again been tight with his emotions, short with his words and quick to temper.

Settling into his car for the ride back home, Tim glanced back to the few lit windows in the hospital. One of them was Dr. Confalone's office and he knew that she was in there, talking with Gibbs.

Tim wondered what they were talking about. It certainly didn't seem likely to be the same thing that she had talked about with him.

In a way, he felt so foolish, having to have it spelled out for him in such a simplistic way and having it actually make a difference. But the truth was, until the doc pressed him, he hadn't even tried to label what it was that had made the last few weeks so difficult, hadn't identified the thing that had kept him up at night and kept him from truly feeling home.

It was worry. Simple, dumb, paralyzing worry.

And once he identified it, he could see it for what it was; unproductive and out of proportion. He had convinced himself that escape from Paraguay was so unlikely, that when they did make it home he somehow convinced himself that the universe would make him pay for their luck with something else terrible.

The universe didn't work like that. He _knew_ that. He was a rational human being, driven by logic, but somehow he needed someone else to sit him down and tell him that the universe wasn't messing with him.

He snorted. He was annoyed with himself and exhausted by the last two days.

He was also grateful.

Grateful to have a boss like Vance who balanced flexibility and understanding with an unwavering commitment to make sure his people were okay, and teammates like Bishop and Torres who could make it clear they were happy to have him back without turning it into a scene, and Abbey and Palmer and Ducky who he knew he could count on for anything, and Gibbs…who could communicate his understanding with a look from across the room, who didn't mince words when it came to calling him out on his avoidance and tacitly demonstrated getting help wasn't a sign of weakness…. And Delilah.

His pregnant wife who had to deal with his disappearance and then was a stalwart supporter since he returned home.

Tim quietly closed the door to the apartment, determined to coax his wife to leave whatever project she was working on and come to bed with him.

The living room was empty, as was the kitchen…

He opened the door to the bedroom and released a long breath, taking a moment to lean against the door jam and watch the rise and fall of his wife's chest as she slept, one hand again draped over the rising bump of their unborn child.

He smiled, he knew he wasn't done with Dr. Confalone; 5 minutes at the end of session wasn't enough to sort out and deal with everything, but for the first time, he felt okay about it. He had a plan and a whole host of supporting characters who wouldn't let him fall.

Quietly shedding his shoes, belt and shirt, he curled up next to his wife, placing one hand next to hers on her abdomen.

Just as he was about to fade to sleep a sharp movement under his palm had his eyes opening and his eyebrows arching.

He smirked; his days of worrying were far from over, a whole new world of concern was just beginning. He tightened his hold on Delilah, and as he finally fell to the darkness of sleep, his last thoughts were how they would be able to handle it all, together.


	29. Chapter 29 - McGee & Gibbs

_Final Chapter - Takes place a few days after the last episode of Season 15._

* * *

Tim watched his boss from the other side of the bull pen.

Gibbs was always a man of few words but there were times when he seemed even quieter than usual; a different, deeper kind of silence which never came about during good times.

Careful not to giveaway his surveillance, Tim watched with deepening concern as Gibbs rubbed at his knuckle; a subtle tic that had slowly subsided over the past 9 months.

Tim hadn't seen it since before the case with Fornell, but since the director had gone missing Tim had caught the his boss pressing on the still misshapen joint a few times.

With a sudden jolt, Tim realized he was wrong; the first time he had seen the restlessness was _before_ Vance had gone missing. The day before, after Sloane's break down. Gibbs had been agitated and had rubbed at his finger while informing the team he was leaving with Vance for a few hours.

Now, as Tim watched, Gibbs shifted in his chair and then, subtly, unthinking, Gibbs' right hand left the desk and rubbed at his chest, right above where he had been shot 3 years ago.

It was only for a second but in that second Tim's breath froze in his lungs. Gibbs _never_ did that. Not even when he came back early and _had_ to have still been in pain.

The terrifying moment when Gibbs had collapsed at his desk that year flashed through Tim's mind and a pit formed in his stomach.

He glanced to Bishop but she had her ear buds in, totally focused on some NSA surveillance report. Torres was leaning on his desk, facing away and playing with a pencil as he waited on hold with the state department. He knew Ducky was at home and Abbey...well, Abbey was in London and no longer an available go-to for all things Gibbs.

Tim looked back to his boss in time to see him swallow and push away from his desk, walking with purpose to the men's room.

Looking around one more time, convinced he was the only one sensing anything wrong, Tim stood and followed, hesitating a beat before entering the restroom.

Gibbs was over the sink, splashing water on his face.

Tim's step faltered.

"What is it McGee?" Gibbs didn't bother looking at him, just reaching for a paper towel and pressing it to his face.

"You okay, Boss?" Tim tilted his head, waiting, not moving from his position a few steps in front of the door.

The paper towel came down and Gibbs glared at Tim through the mirror's reflection.

For a moment the young probie inside of him squirmed but Tim stood firm, even as he allowed his body language to soften, "Gibbs…" He prodded gently.

With a grunt Gibbs balled up the paper towel and tossed it into the trash can. "I'm fine." He grumbled. "Just fine."

Tim let his disbelief show on his face.

"What?" Gibbs retorted, "If you have news on the director then spit it out, if not," he finished the sentence by gesturing to move along with his thumb.

"I have nothing new." Tim shook his head, "I just thought…something seemed…" he shrugged.

Gibbs shook his head. "SecNav called this morning; until we get Vance back here I'm officially acting director so I suggest you get back to work and _find something new_ before someone comes at me with papers to sign."

Tim's eyes widened as he allowed Gibbs to brush by him. Appointing an acting director was not a good indicator from SecNav. No wonder Gibbs was so agitated.

"Boss." He called out before the other man opened the door. Gibbs paused, hand on the knob, looking over his shoulder and waiting. Tim shifted and swallowed, "I just, uh, wondered, if maybe you've talked to Dr. Confalone. Maybe, you might.."

With a roll of his eyes and a snort, Gibbs heaved the door open and stalked back to the bullpen.

Tim clenched his teeth and exhaled through his nose.

This was not good. He had worked enough tough cases to know that this one was not going to be solved quickly or cleanly. And he had been around long enough to see Gibbs take on the Acting Director role before. It never ended well for anyone; and those had always been short stints when they knew the director was alive and well or at least getting better.

He had seen Gibbs agitated in the past but _this_ agitated? For an indeterminate amount of time? This had potential to be very, very bad.

His hand closed around his phone in his pocket. He knew what he was contemplating was dangerously close, if not actually crossing the line.

 _But_ he also knew that when the tables were turned, Gibbs hadn't sat idly by.

Tim had continued to see Dr Confalone through last fall. As Delilah's pregnancy continued, Tim found it harder and harder to stave off the worry, but once the babies were born there was a weird mix of reborn faith in humanity and exhaustion that kept Tim from his regular meetings in Maryland.

But then there had been a series of cases which had Tim's imagination working overdrive; parents walking in on their adult daughter's suicide and a family fearing separation. Those had been immediately preceded by a case where he and Gibbs had to pretend to be held captive. It wasn't long and Bishop didn't even really tie their hands, but the rope against his still scarred wrists was enough to flip his stomach.

He began sleeping less and focusing on work more, leaning on coffee and then Caff-Pow to get himself through each day. Eventually Abbey and Reeves had sat him down for a half hearted intervention. He had successfully waived them off and thought he was in the clear.

It wasn't until that evening that Gibbs, on his way to Fornell's, had pulled Tim in to the elevator that he realized the other agent had also been paying attention and was not so easily dismissed. Gibbs had told him that he had a scheduled appointment with Dr. Confalone and that he was not allowed to do any extra-curricular work until he talked with the doctor.

McGee had initially been annoyed, but the check-in with the psychologist had been exactly what he needed to get back on track and shake the anxiety that had been growing over the previous month.

Reminding himself of how good it felt to realize that Gibbs had noticed and cared, McGee opened his contacts and scrolled to a familiar number…

* * *

"Damnit!" Gibbs cursed as the wood cracked under the clamp he had thoughtlessly overtightened.

With a disgusted grunt and sharp movements he released the tool and tossed the useless wood onto the bench.

Frustration steeped as he looked to his wood pile; that had been the last decent piece he had; he had cracked or miscut the last 4.

Bracing his hands, he hung his head and exhaled. He had to slow down, just focus on the work. He closed his eyes, breathing in and out…

Soon the darkness of his eyelids was replaced by the memory of the scars on Sloane's back and the her halted explanation of what happened echoed in the silence.

He felt his pulse quicken and heat flush under his collar. He rolled his neck, blinking at the ceiling.

Of course, he had known about her time as a POW; he had pulled her file as soon as she had pulled that nonsense at his house when she first transferred. But the file had been text, no pictures, and he hadn't known her yet. Hadn't cared about her as a coworker and friend. Knowing her experience had helped him trust her but it hadn't impacted him like it was now after facing it in person.

When he saw her now, all he could see was her imprisonment; and despite knowing she was held in Afghanistan, in his mind, her prison always seemed to resemble a rusted out old ship.

Was she woken with a baseball bat? Did they use a car battery to get the information they wanted? Waterboarded?

Unbidden his imagination conjured images, her in his place and then he was there with her and then, Leon was there, enduring the same thing but they couldn't reach him and the pain and fear and helplessness was back.

A buzzing noise interrupted the dark spiral and he choked out and opened his eyes, pushing away from the workbench.

His phone was ringing in one of the screw jars. It was probably Sloane, wanting to get together and work on tracking Vance. He ignored it.

His fingers were clenched so tightly that his hands had begun to hurt and he shook his head, trying to clear away the thoughts.

Reaching behind him he picked up a sanding block but then frowned at the boat; nothing needed the steady repetitive sanding that would help center him and clear his mind. He clenched his teeth before grabbing the wood he had cracked earlier. It was useless as a cross brace but he could still use it for this. He lay it across the bench and began sanding long, slow strokes, with the grain.

He was beginning to feel a little clearer when the doorbell began to ring.

For a moment he considered ignoring it, but having ignored his phone once and with Vance still missing it might be important. He put down the sander and jogged up the stairs, slowing when he realized who was standing on his front porch.

He waited a beat, only opening the door when Grace Confalone tilted her head and glared at him through the glass.

"Don't answer your phone anymore?" She asked, breezing past him to stand in the middle of his living room.

"What are you doing here, Doc?" He countered her question with one of his own.

"Well, I haven't heard from you in weeks." She clasped her hands in front of her, "Thought I'd just swing by and check-in."

He narrowed his eyes, her ease was overly forced.

He pointed a finger, "No you didn't."

She rolled her eyes and shrugged, "Okay, you're right. McGee called me."

"Damnit Tim." Gibbs muttered.

He didn't know what the younger man may have said to the shrink but he knew just that they had talked was enough that she would not be easy to dismiss. With resignation he passed her, returning to the basement, leaving her blinking after him.

"Gibbs?"

He paused at the top of the stairs, "You coming or not?"

With a nod she left her purse on the kitchen counter and followed him down to the basement. Where it was warm and dry and smelled of wood and memories of home and family and safety.

Sitting back on a saw horse he again picked up the sanding block and wood, resuming the methodical movements from before and waited.

Grace watched him for a minute, tightening her mouth as she tilted her head.

"Tim only called because he's concerned." She started levelly.

"I'm fine." Came his reply that was so automatic that Grace didn't even wait for him to finish speaking to counter.

"Of course you are; that's why you're sanding a broken piece of wood and ignoring phone calls." Her eyes made exaggerated movements to the hastily discarded clamp as if to tell him she knew exactly what had transpired down here.

Relenting, he lay the wood across his lap and looked at her, "Isn't there some kind of ethical reason why you and Tim shouldn't be talking about me?"

"You mean like all those times you _haven't_ talked about Tim this year? With the twins and the hospital and the lack of sleep and the criminal in his apartment?" She crossed her arms. "It's not right for me to talk about what anyone says in their sessions but that's not what happened here. A friend of yours called me saying he was concerned."

"Yeah? Did he say about what?" Gibbs resisted the urge to squirm.

She shook her head, "He didn't give specifics. But I can guess. I watch the news, I know Director Vance is missing, suspected hostage of a known war criminal? That's got to be upsetting."

"Mhrm…" Gibbs nodded, looking down and lightly running the sanding block over the wood in his lap.

Grace sighed, "Gibbs. What's with the brick wall? All year you've been great, but since Miss Scuito and Agent Reeves were shot you've shut down. I hear Abbey left NCIS and I _know_ that had to have been conflicting for you to deal with on top of loosing an agent."

"Officer." Gibbs corrected quietly.

"Pardon?" Grace blinked.

" _Officer_ Clayton Reeves." Gibbs didn't look up from the wood, "Reeves was a liaison officer with MI-6; he was not an American agent."

"So…" She squinted, "What? You going to tell me that means you cared less?"

He rolled his eyes, "Just thought you should use his proper title." He caught the look she was giving him and exhaled with a shake of his head, "Reeves was a good man, and I was glad he chose to stay at NCIS and even if he hadn't have saved Abbey's life, any agency related death is hard." He clenched his jaw, "But I'm used to it by now."

Grace nodded slowly, "And Abbey? Being shot and leaving?"

"What about it?" Gibbs snapped.

She shrugged, "You were close. You've known her as long as you've been in DC; shared a lot. I know you cared for her like family."

Gibbs swallowed. Unbidden his eyes tracked to where the forensic scientist had stood years earlier, tearily confronting his secret and asking if he would still love her.

"They're all like family." He replied quietly. "And if you love someone, you want what's best for them. Abbey needed a break. Her heart is too pure to keep facing the worst of humanity. She's okay so I'm okay."

Grace looked down, seemingly accepting the honesty of his words.

Pulling up a second saw horse, she sat across from him, leaning over, her elbows braced on her knees. "Okay. So how about I stop guessing. How about you tell me why McGee is concerned and you've clammed up."

"McGee has enough of his own to deal with to waste time worrying about me." Gibbs bit out, internally disbelieving Tim had _actually_ called Confalone.

"You know that's ridiculous." Grace shook her head, "Even if you two _hadn't_ been through what you've been through together, Tim would always be caring about you. Why do you think he got off the chopper to begin with? He cares. Just like you care about him and every other member of your team. Stop dismissing that."

"Well that's just great." Gibbs could feel his chest tightening again as the frustration mounted. He really did not need to be reminded that he was the reason Tim had suffered all he had last summer.

As if she could tell something was mounting Grace leaned back, "Gibbs? Talk to me… Just tell me…"

Talk…just talk…everyone wanted him to talk, talking would fix everything they claimed…her and Taft and Bishop and McGee and _Sloane…_ and _Leon…._

"WHY?!" With a sudden blaze of anger he threw the sanding block as hard as he could against the wall, shaking the shelf above it and sending nails and screws clattering to the bench top.

He ignored it, eyes blazing as he stood, glaring down at the diminutive psychologist in front of him. " _Talking_ is the answer? Will make things better? I've spent the last 3 years _talking._ This past year more than I have in my whole life and _what's_ gotten better? Not only am I down here having flashbacks, but now I've pulled my friends into it and I can't help them and talking just means having to relive it out loud so what the _HELL_ is the point? Unless you know where Leon Vance is, you can't help me. Or can tell me with surety that he doesn't have a water soaked rag currently pressed over his face. Or, you know what would really help? If you could go back in time and keep Sloane from being tortured and whipped in some Afghan cave or if you keep Tim from getting off that damn helo. _That_ would be helpful. Can you do that?! Can you do any of that? **_CAN_** You?!"

To her credit, Grace Confalone didn't flinch or shudder. She just looked back with infinitely patient eyes until Gibbs felt the anger disappear as fast as it had grown, leaving him feeling empty.

It wasn't until his hands began to shake that Grace moved, standing and placing a hand on his arm, "Sit back down. Right here. It's okay."

He released a shaky exhale and looked down, "I'm…"

"I thought apologizing was against the rules." She cut him off with a raised eyebrow.

He just stared back at her, feeling completely blank and exhausted.

She gave him a tight smile, "Okay, so it's been such a struggle to get you to open up, that it seems noone has given you the disclaimer."

He squinted, not yet ready to provide any kind of sarcastic response.

She placed a hand on his knee, "Talking, therapy, it all _helps._ It doesn't _fix._ What happened to you happened. And nothing is going to change that or rewrite it to be less traumatic. Our reactions to our hardest memories aren't always the same; they ebb and flow. One minute you can be embracing gratitude for being alive, and the next have a crippling wave of depression. The goal of therapy is minimize the distance between the ebbs and the flows; to help you find your normal and keep the pulling in either direction to a minimum. That's how we build stability."

Gibbs swallowed, his mouth a little less dry than a moment ago, "So no cure?"

"No cure." Grace shook her head. "We can't be cured of our past. And I suspect if you thought about it, you wouldn't want to."

He narrowed his eyes in question and Grace smiled, "Your wife and daughter. The pain for you is very real because their loss was so very difficult. But loosing Shannon and Kelly was hard because you loved them so much. To cure your pain would require dulling the memory of their love." She tilted her head, "I doubt it would be worth that."

Gibbs looked down, pressing at his thumb and not replying.

She leaned back, "And I understand your worry about Director Vance; and am sorry to hear about what happened to your other friend. But internalizing everything will not help either of them. From what I've been told investigations require a cool-headed focus."

He looked to the ceiling, "But I can't focus. I just keep thinking about the people I care about having to endure the same thing I did."

Grace nodded, "And _that_ is where the talking can help. Articulating and sharing your concerns helps build a buffer against unwanted intrusions. You can always call me. Agent McGee called me because _he_ could see warning signs building the last few days. When you feel yourself approaching a breaking point, you call me. Or talk to Tim…or even Sloane who sounds like she might be an understanding ear. Anything to open the release valve before you become so wrapped in your own head that you can't exist in the present world or work the case in front of you."

Gibbs nodded, reluctant to admit that along with the sense of depletion, he felt better than he had since Sloane had showed him her scars. As if a pressure had been released.

He frowned, the thought of Sloane and the physical reminder of her abuse stirring something inside. "What if the same things keep making it start up?"

Grace shrugged, "Some will fade. Some won't. You told me there was a time you couldn't go to Shannon and Kelly's grave."

He swallowed, "I went last week. Shannon's birthday."

Grace nodded, "And?"

"It wasn't easy." He admitted.

"But possible." Grace affirmed.

"Possible." He repeated. Mulling over the word. Maybe there would be a day when Sloane's scars wouldn't cause him to relive his own torture…but he would always be reminded. It was how he reacted to those memories.

"So, no matter how much _talking_ …there is no _end_ to any of this." He restated, looking Confalone in the eye.

"Right. There is no cure and there is no end." She confirmed, "But there is healing; in the ebb and flow there is healing."


End file.
